Heading out for a road-trip to celebrate the anniversary of wedded bliss with Hubby.
Update:
I'm FIXED!
Yup - truest words ever typed. Not in a spayed/neutered kind of way...
I went to the immunologist/allergist/naturopath and got tested over 2 sessions for 322 foods.
I am allergic to 106 of them.
(Doing my happy dance again while I type).
I guess it sounds funny to celebrate being allergic to that many foods, however it gives me the much needed answer - and now allows me to eat and drink without the drama of forceful regurgitation and the hell of constant indigestion. I've been living these past months like I had food poisoning while my poor little stomache tried to constantly deal with foods that it was reacting to. These allergies were not caused by my sleeve, however the fact that my stomache size has been drastically reduced means that my reaction was concentrated and made worse. UGH - like I needed anything to be worsened LOL!
Even better: none of the allergies are anaphylactic. My reaction is stomache-sickness.
This means I don't need to carry around a multitude of epi-pens.
The bestest news ever: I am eating SO well that I actually gained a pound and a half last week.
(Not that I want to or intend to gain, but I have been rejoicing at the mere fact that I have been eating too well!).
Anyhow - I must run and pack my bags. Yes, I also have to take along food that I can eat - but at least there IS food that I can eat!
I'll post more when we get back - I promise!
Just wanted to put it out there that I'm doing marvellous for the first time in a looooong time.
XO from HP
Friday, 6 September 2013
Thursday, 22 August 2013
I Have A Drinking Problem
Do you know the feeling of trying to keep everything together when really underneath it is all falling apart at the seams?
After my last scope, I vigorously tried to appear fine. When asked how I was feeling, I found myself using words such as "great", "grand", "fabulous", and even "never been better" - ok so I just inwardly shuddered as I typed that one.
Truth is I was anything but. Again, bites of food became minefields (not to be gross here, but lets just say I must have been a seagull in a former life based on the amount of regurgitation I had). Then even sips of water became excruciating. Eventually I couldn't keep my saliva down.
So, I am writing this not even 24 hours after being discharged again from the hospital. I had been in since the 13th. This time 'round, the hospitalization was scarier for me than the 2 previous ones. I had no clue I was heading to hospital. That day I had gone to work as usual and went to my family Dr. on my lunch break just try to change the meds that the hospital gave me the week before as they were making me tired. She asked me how I was feeling, and I mustered a simple "ok". Somehow she saw that I had uttered a great mistruth. I was feeling exhausted, empty, drained. She looked at me and told me to go home, predicting I was heading to emerg within 24 hours. She said I was dehydrated and that I needed to stop pretending I was fine. I asked her if I could go back and finish the rest of my shift to which she said "go home". Home I went, feeling pretty low.
I called my bariatric team once home. The team consists of a Nurse Practitioner, a Dietitian, and my Bariatric surgeon (who is on sabbatical til October). After a quick chat with me honestly answering questions about how many cals I was getting in a day (struggling to hit 500), how much fluid I was getting in a day (struggling to hit a litre), how I was feeling (like I had been hit by a train), activity level (I had not even been on my glorious new bike for weeks for fear of blacking out) - I was told to report to Emerg STAT.
I was admitted under a general surgeon who didn't quite know what to do with me. I had the requisite swallow test (which was my third one since surgery, and I would prefer not to have to have another one e-v-e-r!). It showed that everything from my esophagus through my sleeve is narrow; but then again I have a sheepish sleeve anyhow. It also showed pretty significant reflux - in fact, the nice Dr. who performed the test advised me with great concern to make sure NEVER EVER to eat or drink while lying on my right side. Um, ok. Even better diagnosis: I have no cats wandering about my sleeve (cat scan was clear).
Once again my family and I did the dance. The one where we are glad I'm admitted and getting checked out, but also equally scared that I'd be sent home without answers.
Well, I've been admitted and checked out. The reflux is a problem. I have an appointment next week with another bariatric surgeon to discuss this, and the Nurse Practitioner told me to prepare myself for a discussion about a revision to a RNY (which they don't do here unless the sleeve is not working, and excessive reflux 8 months out gets me a ticket to that horror show). Thankfully there is nothing more sinister lurking - my sleeve is working, although everything is narrow. The Nurse Practitioner and Dietitian also suspect that the underlying food allergy theory may be wreaking havok.
So... this morning I'm headed off in search of alternative help. They recommended a local Dr. who is a naturopath, immunologist, and allergist. She's fitting me in. From what I've read she uses everything and anything between spoons, animal horns, and cups. At this point I would do naked hot yoga on rocks and eat upside down if I could.
I'm back to a clear fluid diet meaning I have pretty much 0 energy. I'm also returning to my family Dr. this afternoon to discuss such fun things as when I can go back to work (next week please?!? I love my job!), and can I take the little vacation that Hubby and I have in 2 weeks to celebrate our anniversary (yes please I'll be a good girlie!).
Fingers crossed on both fronts, but we'll see.
Anyhow, there it is. Goes to show that you can't base your success on the numbers. Even with my successful weight loss and the drastic change in my body's measurements, I am incredibly unhealthy right now.
Fingers crossed for some answers at both appointments.
I will keep you posted (unless I can't type because I'm sitting krishna-style on hot rocks and holding buffalo horns full of sacred herbs in my hands)...
Oh yeah - and as for the title of the post, a few nights ago I asked my league of visitors (some bariatric pals and a few coworkers) what I should say when people ask what is wrong this time. Given that I'm now on clear fluids and desperately sipping the day away trying to get those blessed 2 litres in, it came to me: I have a drinking problem.
XO from a drained HP
After my last scope, I vigorously tried to appear fine. When asked how I was feeling, I found myself using words such as "great", "grand", "fabulous", and even "never been better" - ok so I just inwardly shuddered as I typed that one.
Truth is I was anything but. Again, bites of food became minefields (not to be gross here, but lets just say I must have been a seagull in a former life based on the amount of regurgitation I had). Then even sips of water became excruciating. Eventually I couldn't keep my saliva down.
So, I am writing this not even 24 hours after being discharged again from the hospital. I had been in since the 13th. This time 'round, the hospitalization was scarier for me than the 2 previous ones. I had no clue I was heading to hospital. That day I had gone to work as usual and went to my family Dr. on my lunch break just try to change the meds that the hospital gave me the week before as they were making me tired. She asked me how I was feeling, and I mustered a simple "ok". Somehow she saw that I had uttered a great mistruth. I was feeling exhausted, empty, drained. She looked at me and told me to go home, predicting I was heading to emerg within 24 hours. She said I was dehydrated and that I needed to stop pretending I was fine. I asked her if I could go back and finish the rest of my shift to which she said "go home". Home I went, feeling pretty low.
I called my bariatric team once home. The team consists of a Nurse Practitioner, a Dietitian, and my Bariatric surgeon (who is on sabbatical til October). After a quick chat with me honestly answering questions about how many cals I was getting in a day (struggling to hit 500), how much fluid I was getting in a day (struggling to hit a litre), how I was feeling (like I had been hit by a train), activity level (I had not even been on my glorious new bike for weeks for fear of blacking out) - I was told to report to Emerg STAT.
I was admitted under a general surgeon who didn't quite know what to do with me. I had the requisite swallow test (which was my third one since surgery, and I would prefer not to have to have another one e-v-e-r!). It showed that everything from my esophagus through my sleeve is narrow; but then again I have a sheepish sleeve anyhow. It also showed pretty significant reflux - in fact, the nice Dr. who performed the test advised me with great concern to make sure NEVER EVER to eat or drink while lying on my right side. Um, ok. Even better diagnosis: I have no cats wandering about my sleeve (cat scan was clear).
Once again my family and I did the dance. The one where we are glad I'm admitted and getting checked out, but also equally scared that I'd be sent home without answers.
Well, I've been admitted and checked out. The reflux is a problem. I have an appointment next week with another bariatric surgeon to discuss this, and the Nurse Practitioner told me to prepare myself for a discussion about a revision to a RNY (which they don't do here unless the sleeve is not working, and excessive reflux 8 months out gets me a ticket to that horror show). Thankfully there is nothing more sinister lurking - my sleeve is working, although everything is narrow. The Nurse Practitioner and Dietitian also suspect that the underlying food allergy theory may be wreaking havok.
So... this morning I'm headed off in search of alternative help. They recommended a local Dr. who is a naturopath, immunologist, and allergist. She's fitting me in. From what I've read she uses everything and anything between spoons, animal horns, and cups. At this point I would do naked hot yoga on rocks and eat upside down if I could.
I'm back to a clear fluid diet meaning I have pretty much 0 energy. I'm also returning to my family Dr. this afternoon to discuss such fun things as when I can go back to work (next week please?!? I love my job!), and can I take the little vacation that Hubby and I have in 2 weeks to celebrate our anniversary (yes please I'll be a good girlie!).
Fingers crossed on both fronts, but we'll see.
Anyhow, there it is. Goes to show that you can't base your success on the numbers. Even with my successful weight loss and the drastic change in my body's measurements, I am incredibly unhealthy right now.
Fingers crossed for some answers at both appointments.
I will keep you posted (unless I can't type because I'm sitting krishna-style on hot rocks and holding buffalo horns full of sacred herbs in my hands)...
Oh yeah - and as for the title of the post, a few nights ago I asked my league of visitors (some bariatric pals and a few coworkers) what I should say when people ask what is wrong this time. Given that I'm now on clear fluids and desperately sipping the day away trying to get those blessed 2 litres in, it came to me: I have a drinking problem.
XO from a drained HP
Sunday, 11 August 2013
Status Quo
(sheepishly looks around and steps forward to the mic... "Hi, my name is Hotty, and I've been absent for WAYYYY too long"....)
First and foremost, I most sincerely apologize for my absence. Please someone get in touch with the milk carton people and get my picture taken off!!!
Where have I been? Well, a lot of places. Most of them good but some not so much.Was recently re-admitted and scoped yet again. Seems my stricture (formerly known as Mr. Hiatal Hernia but who was not a hiatal hernia at all) decided that he missed me so much that he would come back. Note to Mr. Stricture: next time, send an effin' postcard!! :{
This business of weight loss is a funny one. Most if not all of us become somewhat (or totally) obsessed by the scales, and rely on the numbers to gauge our success or failure.
Um, I just wanna throw this out there: as long as you are doing something, anything about your health, then "failure" is not really in the picture, is it?
How ironic it is that some of us go through gargantuan struggles to lose weight, only to succumb to the inner-voice that tells us that we aren't good enough, aren't thin enough, aren't working enough, aren't losing enough. Personally I've had enough of enough - it is really for the birds.
I am evolving. I can feel it with every breath and bat of my eyelashes. Every time I pass a mirror I can see it. But I can also see it when I close my eyes. My physical appearance is changing drastically, as is my inner self. Most of it, thankfully, is for the good.
I will say this. My ability to put this journey into words was hindered for the longest while. I dived (dove?) head-first into a deep dark pool of discovery and questions about moi (more like I was thrown in to the churning black abyss of a completely unknown territory). Realising that I didn't really know myself, I felt it wise to not write about me. But now, I'm getting to know me, and just like riding a bicycle - I've decided to put fingers to keyboard to start expressing myself again.
(Incidentally, speaking of bicycle, I have been riding a bicycle... and I freaking love it. Those olympian cyclists need not worry - I will not be smashing any records other than my own. But I'm having a ball "pedalling my ass" all over town, which I think I might actually have printed on a shirt one of these days...)
What does my journey look like right now? Well, the good and the bad. Numbers wise, I'm a success. 145 pounds down in 8 months. 93 inches have left this bodacious bod. However, nutritionally I'm a disaster. I have been unable to tolerate protein powder, milk, eggs, etc etc etc for months. Initial allergy testing showed that I triggered allergic reactions to all 48 food serums. I achieved a minute of glory at the clinic as this is not a usual reaction. Subsequent testing the next day had the same result. Am I allergic to ALL food? (Horror of horrors! The travesty! The injustice!) Not freaking likely I hope. I've been given a list of 7 major baddies to remain away from, and 21 related foods to avoid if humanly possible. Initially this was a shock. Now it's just what it is. I will be seeing a specialist hopefully some time in the coming millennium to verify exactly what I am allergic to. Moving on...
Bigger picture - I'm struggling. Despite the success on the scales, Hubby and I are in a vicious battle against time in terms of Operation Stork. My surgeon initially thought that one year after surgery (which will be this coming December) we could be given the green light to start the baby making trials *as long as I am nutritionally stable*.
Well folks, nutritionally I am a disaster. A veritable mess. We were given the sad tidings at my 6 month check up in June with the bariatric team that December is going to be a no-go for sure. I understand the whole bun-in-the-oven concept, and how the oven needs to be healthy... but this oven is turning 41 in February and the clock is ticking. It seems that no matter what I do or what deities I worship, there is no way that I have any control over this mess. And of course I'm someone who likes to imagine that most things are within my control... I am boggled by the irony that I'm finally in the weight range (30 lbs less actually) of what the fertility Doc needed in order to get help... but I am nutritionally farther away than ever of being medically encouraged (or assisted) to procreate.
Every day, every single day - every bite and every sip is a struggle. Still. I'm back on the same "chemo" meds that they give to counteract nausea to chemo patients. They knock me on my ass every 6 hours. This is just to be able to keep food down. And the reflux is constant, and is only tempered by another medication which just got doubled. Ugh.
However... with all of that being said... I signed up for weight loss surgery knowing the possibilities and hoping for weight loss. Well, it appears that I indeed got what I wanted. The weight loss is staggering. I'm a little worried that it won't stop. As much as I'd like to look like a stunning goddess, I'm a little worried that I'm going to look stupendously gaunt. My collar bones are protruding already. Hubby and I joke that if it takes sucking back chocolate, I will not get to that point of sickly thin... but honestly I wonder (and yes, worry sometimes).
So... that is it. Actually one more thing. I am a food addict. And I didn't know it until recently. I'm the worst kind - I was so far gone that I actually used to say that I wasn't an addict, that I just liked food. Well, that was bs. Now that I have to negotiate each bite like a minefield, I can tell you with 100% clarity that I have been addicted to food for most of (if not all of) my life.
Phew. Oh yeah - for those of you from my old WW days, just so ya know, I have tried to post an update there too. While I can look at my profile and change my status, the site absolutely will not allow me to post on my blog. Not sure why - each time it appears to be a technical difficulty.
Stay safe out there kids - and if you're using numbers to validate your success, please stop. The bigger picture is your overall health. I'd take at least half of those pounds back in a heartbeat if I could be nutritionally stable...
XO from HP
Tuesday, 5 March 2013
Wild Ride
One week ago I went downhill again.
Same old same old.
Dehydration, difficulty swallowing even liquids.
When I ended up back on IV I hit a pretty low point. I was starting to wonder if I would ever get back to being me again, and live outside of the hospital! Or was this the new normal???
Thankfully, I have one of the best surgeons in the Province. He saw me in his clinic right away last Wednesday.
Thursday I underwent a dilation. This procedure is done during an endoscope. In case you have lived life blissfully unaware of what an endoscope is, it is where they guide a camera and what feels like 100 yards of tubing down your throat.
I've been "scoped" before way back in the days of an ill gall-bladder. But let me tell you that being scoped when your body doesn't even want you to swallow water (let alone a tube that felt as though it was as wide as my thumb) is a tricky matter. It was less than pretty.
My surgeon, God bless his cotton socks, decided that it needed to be done. So Thursday I returned to the hospital, had another IV hooked up for dehydration again, and I got scoped and "stretched". While he was in there having a good look around he actually dilated my sleeve (which to this point had been behaving badly in terms of TOO much restriction).
He found what he calls a "stricture", meaning that I had a narrowing of some part or other of my sleeve. I have another name for it, but I think too much of you to type that here.
Anyhow.... yes, it was pretty bad, but guess what???
It worked!
I am totally excited at the new me that I feel that I now am. I can swallow no problem. I now am re-learning how to eat and drink, and I'm taking my time.
Even with these hiccups in the road, I am SO glad to have had this surgery. It has been a life-changing. Thankfully we have a wonderful support group that meets once a month at the hospital, and I have made so many friends there that completely understand these challenges in a way that is difficult for most others to "get".
I saw the surgeon at the hospital again today for a re-check, and he told me that I'm back to being "exceptional" with an excellent prognosis. I stepped on the scales again (which I only do at clinical appointments) and I was delighted that I've lost another 4 pounds since 5 days ago. My grand total now is 77 down. Wowzers!
Here's hoping that the coming days are as good as these past few have turned out to be.
Same old same old.
Dehydration, difficulty swallowing even liquids.
When I ended up back on IV I hit a pretty low point. I was starting to wonder if I would ever get back to being me again, and live outside of the hospital! Or was this the new normal???
Thankfully, I have one of the best surgeons in the Province. He saw me in his clinic right away last Wednesday.
Thursday I underwent a dilation. This procedure is done during an endoscope. In case you have lived life blissfully unaware of what an endoscope is, it is where they guide a camera and what feels like 100 yards of tubing down your throat.
I've been "scoped" before way back in the days of an ill gall-bladder. But let me tell you that being scoped when your body doesn't even want you to swallow water (let alone a tube that felt as though it was as wide as my thumb) is a tricky matter. It was less than pretty.
My surgeon, God bless his cotton socks, decided that it needed to be done. So Thursday I returned to the hospital, had another IV hooked up for dehydration again, and I got scoped and "stretched". While he was in there having a good look around he actually dilated my sleeve (which to this point had been behaving badly in terms of TOO much restriction).
He found what he calls a "stricture", meaning that I had a narrowing of some part or other of my sleeve. I have another name for it, but I think too much of you to type that here.
Anyhow.... yes, it was pretty bad, but guess what???
It worked!
I am totally excited at the new me that I feel that I now am. I can swallow no problem. I now am re-learning how to eat and drink, and I'm taking my time.
Even with these hiccups in the road, I am SO glad to have had this surgery. It has been a life-changing. Thankfully we have a wonderful support group that meets once a month at the hospital, and I have made so many friends there that completely understand these challenges in a way that is difficult for most others to "get".
I saw the surgeon at the hospital again today for a re-check, and he told me that I'm back to being "exceptional" with an excellent prognosis. I stepped on the scales again (which I only do at clinical appointments) and I was delighted that I've lost another 4 pounds since 5 days ago. My grand total now is 77 down. Wowzers!
Here's hoping that the coming days are as good as these past few have turned out to be.
Saturday, 23 February 2013
Hiccup In The Road
It would be nice to imagine that life has been so busy lately that I haven't had a chance to blog - that I've been up to my eyesockets surrounded in happy times and purple unicorns. Nope.
I have had a setback - a hiccup - a pothole in this road if you will.
I had my follow up appointment with my surgeon on February 5th. At that time I had officially lost 47.6lbs from surgery (58.6 from the week before surgery). The Dr. had a young resident with him who is studying to be a GP so she sat in on the appointment (with my consent) to learn about the procedure. He pointed out my incision lines and various details about the surgery (such as through which hole he pulled out my stomache). The resident then asked me all sorts of questions about the surgery such as my motivation (health) and what the recovery was like in hospital (easy-peasy for me). My Dr. was very pleased with my weight loss and referred to me as "exceptional".
One week later I was at the Emergency Department with chest pain, nausea, and even weakness in my left arm. They dutifully checked out my heart, which is fine. Phew! Then they went looking for a blood clot (which is a risk of any surgery for even 90 days!). Couln't find one. My bloodwork showed 2 things: I was dehydrated and my liver was working harder than normal. After the surgeon had me admitted to check all of this out, it got worse. I could keep nothing down. Not even a sip of water. When you are sleeved, I have found that it is a constant battle between eating and drinking. It is possibly to dehydrate so quickly that you have to be on top of your fluid intake and cannot afford the luxury of forgetting about it for even 24 hours!!! So, when I found myself completely unable to get a sip of water down, I started to realize the state I was in. I was discharged 9 days later.
I'll spare you the gory details of my medical incarceration (I was so sick and nauseous it was like a Stephen King novel). I will tell you these two tidbits which should give you a vague idea of my sickness: first I started Valentine's Day off with another swallow test (which is THE most dreaded part of surgery for many sleevers) after which the hospital employee who was assigned to wheel me back to my room asked me how long I had been on chemo due to my up-chuckedness - AND second, I was actually ON a drug that is given to chemo patients to help them with said up-chuckedness.
I can sum up the experience in numbers:
1 - cancelled 40th bday party for me this year.
3 - the number of big events I missed (Brother's bday supper, Mom's bday party, Valentines Day date!)
4 - the number of pounds I GAINED in hospital. UGH! The inhumanity!!!!
6 - the number of newly-sleeved people who were done and released while I was still in (they do 3 a week here on Mondays)
9 - the number of days I was admitted.
9 - the number of different prescriptions I was given.
53 - the number of injections I had during my stay.
The most inportant number is 2. I'm back on full-fluids for at least 2 weeks then mushies for 2 weeks. (I had just moved up to solids pre-admission, so this is a kick in the arse). I have to focus on getting 2 litres of fluid in a day to avoid re-hospitalization.
I ended up having an obstuction. Since surgery in December a small hiatal hernia apparently decided to take up residence. For reference, a hiatal hernia is common- approximately half of the population walking around have one and don't even know it. If it produces any symptoms at all, it would be heartburn or reflux. Sometime on the 12th of February that hernia protruded into my diaphragm causing chest pain, arm weakness, and nausea. In the general population, this would be pretty minor. For someone sleeved only 9 weeks prior, it was a catastrophe which led to complete obstruction as my esophagus spasmed in reaction to the protrusion.
Is it related to my surgery? Yes and no. Surgery did not cause it, in fact the surgeons routinely repair such hernias if found during the VSG surgery. But - it was worsened by the fact that I was recently sleeved.
Does this have a happy ending? Well, yes. I am fully aware that the outcome could have been much worse. I was sicker than I have ever been in my life. While I am struggling now every day to "sip sip sip" those liquids, I would rather be struggling to get enough liquids in me to survive than to be not surviving. The surgeon couldn't treat the hernia or obstruction as a scope was not possible - he feels that this should settle down and in time as my stomache expands a little Mr. Hiatal Hernia (I won't lie I sometimes call him Mr. FN Asshole) the risk of complete obstruction will be less.
But... I now find I am feeling fragile and vulnerable. These are not things I am used to feeling, and are definitely not on my color-wheel. We don't know what caused the protrusion - could have been a cough, sneeze, bend etc. So aside from feeling afraid to move too much or breathe too heavy, I'm also living with the uncertainty every day if I'll end up at Emerg by the end of that same day.
Deep down, I'm equally afraid of failure. I always have been. The night before surgery I was not afraid of the procedure, recovery, pain, staples, or death. I was afraid I would fail.
Now with this "hiccup", I feel like no matter what I will not be "exceptional" any more. I am now a cautionary tale of what can happen - what can go wrong - the "girl who got re-admitted for nine whole days!"
So... I have done what I always do. I am moving forward with my best face on. I will leave my house today with a smile on my face.
I guess in the end it comes back to the number 2... I've been given a second chance because at least I'm still here...
I have had a setback - a hiccup - a pothole in this road if you will.
I had my follow up appointment with my surgeon on February 5th. At that time I had officially lost 47.6lbs from surgery (58.6 from the week before surgery). The Dr. had a young resident with him who is studying to be a GP so she sat in on the appointment (with my consent) to learn about the procedure. He pointed out my incision lines and various details about the surgery (such as through which hole he pulled out my stomache). The resident then asked me all sorts of questions about the surgery such as my motivation (health) and what the recovery was like in hospital (easy-peasy for me). My Dr. was very pleased with my weight loss and referred to me as "exceptional".
One week later I was at the Emergency Department with chest pain, nausea, and even weakness in my left arm. They dutifully checked out my heart, which is fine. Phew! Then they went looking for a blood clot (which is a risk of any surgery for even 90 days!). Couln't find one. My bloodwork showed 2 things: I was dehydrated and my liver was working harder than normal. After the surgeon had me admitted to check all of this out, it got worse. I could keep nothing down. Not even a sip of water. When you are sleeved, I have found that it is a constant battle between eating and drinking. It is possibly to dehydrate so quickly that you have to be on top of your fluid intake and cannot afford the luxury of forgetting about it for even 24 hours!!! So, when I found myself completely unable to get a sip of water down, I started to realize the state I was in. I was discharged 9 days later.
I'll spare you the gory details of my medical incarceration (I was so sick and nauseous it was like a Stephen King novel). I will tell you these two tidbits which should give you a vague idea of my sickness: first I started Valentine's Day off with another swallow test (which is THE most dreaded part of surgery for many sleevers) after which the hospital employee who was assigned to wheel me back to my room asked me how long I had been on chemo due to my up-chuckedness - AND second, I was actually ON a drug that is given to chemo patients to help them with said up-chuckedness.
I can sum up the experience in numbers:
1 - cancelled 40th bday party for me this year.
3 - the number of big events I missed (Brother's bday supper, Mom's bday party, Valentines Day date!)
4 - the number of pounds I GAINED in hospital. UGH! The inhumanity!!!!
6 - the number of newly-sleeved people who were done and released while I was still in (they do 3 a week here on Mondays)
9 - the number of days I was admitted.
9 - the number of different prescriptions I was given.
53 - the number of injections I had during my stay.
The most inportant number is 2. I'm back on full-fluids for at least 2 weeks then mushies for 2 weeks. (I had just moved up to solids pre-admission, so this is a kick in the arse). I have to focus on getting 2 litres of fluid in a day to avoid re-hospitalization.
I ended up having an obstuction. Since surgery in December a small hiatal hernia apparently decided to take up residence. For reference, a hiatal hernia is common- approximately half of the population walking around have one and don't even know it. If it produces any symptoms at all, it would be heartburn or reflux. Sometime on the 12th of February that hernia protruded into my diaphragm causing chest pain, arm weakness, and nausea. In the general population, this would be pretty minor. For someone sleeved only 9 weeks prior, it was a catastrophe which led to complete obstruction as my esophagus spasmed in reaction to the protrusion.
Is it related to my surgery? Yes and no. Surgery did not cause it, in fact the surgeons routinely repair such hernias if found during the VSG surgery. But - it was worsened by the fact that I was recently sleeved.
Does this have a happy ending? Well, yes. I am fully aware that the outcome could have been much worse. I was sicker than I have ever been in my life. While I am struggling now every day to "sip sip sip" those liquids, I would rather be struggling to get enough liquids in me to survive than to be not surviving. The surgeon couldn't treat the hernia or obstruction as a scope was not possible - he feels that this should settle down and in time as my stomache expands a little Mr. Hiatal Hernia (I won't lie I sometimes call him Mr. FN Asshole) the risk of complete obstruction will be less.
But... I now find I am feeling fragile and vulnerable. These are not things I am used to feeling, and are definitely not on my color-wheel. We don't know what caused the protrusion - could have been a cough, sneeze, bend etc. So aside from feeling afraid to move too much or breathe too heavy, I'm also living with the uncertainty every day if I'll end up at Emerg by the end of that same day.
Deep down, I'm equally afraid of failure. I always have been. The night before surgery I was not afraid of the procedure, recovery, pain, staples, or death. I was afraid I would fail.
Now with this "hiccup", I feel like no matter what I will not be "exceptional" any more. I am now a cautionary tale of what can happen - what can go wrong - the "girl who got re-admitted for nine whole days!"
So... I have done what I always do. I am moving forward with my best face on. I will leave my house today with a smile on my face.
I guess in the end it comes back to the number 2... I've been given a second chance because at least I'm still here...
Monday, 4 February 2013
Milestone
I had surgery 8 weeks ago today.
I now weigh less than I did after 8 months of WW.
Considering I weighed more at the start of my surgery than I did at the start of WW, that is pretty amazing!
I have reached the lowest point of my recorded weight. Before WW, way back in my University days (16 years ago) my weight was exactly what it is today.
Considering that since childhood (with the exception of WW) my weight showed only a steady growth, the fact that I managed to get back to what I weighed 16 years ago is a real feat.
But don't get me wrong. This journey is not an easy one. While I still enjoy cooking and preparing meals, I do not enjoy eating. Watching me eat sometimes it can appear as though I have an eating disorder. I have to think about every morsel. I often push my food around my plate. I struggle even still to drink enough liquids, and I hardly ever get the target amounts in.
I evny the people out there who can diet successfully and get to where they need to be on their own. If I could have, I would have done so in a heartbeat.
Surgery is not for everyone. But it saved my life. And although I struggle every day, I would have it again tomorrow.
I now weigh less than I did after 8 months of WW.
Considering I weighed more at the start of my surgery than I did at the start of WW, that is pretty amazing!
I have reached the lowest point of my recorded weight. Before WW, way back in my University days (16 years ago) my weight was exactly what it is today.
Considering that since childhood (with the exception of WW) my weight showed only a steady growth, the fact that I managed to get back to what I weighed 16 years ago is a real feat.
But don't get me wrong. This journey is not an easy one. While I still enjoy cooking and preparing meals, I do not enjoy eating. Watching me eat sometimes it can appear as though I have an eating disorder. I have to think about every morsel. I often push my food around my plate. I struggle even still to drink enough liquids, and I hardly ever get the target amounts in.
I evny the people out there who can diet successfully and get to where they need to be on their own. If I could have, I would have done so in a heartbeat.
Surgery is not for everyone. But it saved my life. And although I struggle every day, I would have it again tomorrow.
Saturday, 2 February 2013
Mid Life Crisis??
With my 40th birthday approaching at the end of the month, I've been pretty absorbed lately in the realisation that I don't have a fucking clue who I am.
Gulp.
You heard me.
Since childhood, I have been using food to soothe and to feel good. Right now, "soothe" and "feel good" are about as far from the spectrum of emotions I'd associate with food as anything, because eating anything (or even drinking) is a chore. A necessary evil. The mental struggle (of making sure I eat or drink enough, wondering what my stomach will or will not tolerate) has sucked the joy right out of sticking anything in my gob. Don't get me wrong - I would have this surgery again in a heartbeat... but it has left me laid bare.
Without my ability to self-medicate by consumption of food, I have lost my quick therapeutic fix. Thankfully life is good and there is no need for me to be receiving therapy- BUT.... I guess I am left to ponder a huge question. If I consistently used food to gloss over feelings, to feel good, and to have a sort of a quick "high"... then was I ever really "myself"??? Oh geez, this is starting to sound more like I might need help a la Dr. Phil...
I spent many years of my life trying to fit in. This peaked pretty much in High School, where I achieved true chameleon-like status. I tried SO hard to have SO many friends that I would have a mini-crisis at lunch because I would have no idea which table to sit at. Combine this with my being an innate people-pleaser, one could clearly see the havoc this would cause in my noggin. I was trying so hard to be everyone's friend that I bent every which way like Gumby - and truly lost who I was. Thankfully by the last year, I had "grown a pair" and realised that I needed to be me.
Sadly, I was still a "me" that used food as a tool...
So who the heck am I now? I guess deep down I'm the same me, without a lot of the insecurities of youth. But I'm left to figure out a few things yet. Is there anything left over from my first 40 years that I haven't dealt with? Is there anything that I would use food to mask right now? Are there residual feelings or experiences that I have pushed aside... ones that might now begin to hamper my progress?
I hope not. Honestly, I don't think so.
I guess I'm kind of feeling a little like a newborn. While babies are adorable, heart-snatching little bundles of joy - there remains the fact that they are bare, often-stinky, blank slates.
Am I a blank slate? Sort of. Thankfully, I'm not stinky - but I'm definitely feeling bare without my crutch...
Gulp.
You heard me.
Since childhood, I have been using food to soothe and to feel good. Right now, "soothe" and "feel good" are about as far from the spectrum of emotions I'd associate with food as anything, because eating anything (or even drinking) is a chore. A necessary evil. The mental struggle (of making sure I eat or drink enough, wondering what my stomach will or will not tolerate) has sucked the joy right out of sticking anything in my gob. Don't get me wrong - I would have this surgery again in a heartbeat... but it has left me laid bare.
Without my ability to self-medicate by consumption of food, I have lost my quick therapeutic fix. Thankfully life is good and there is no need for me to be receiving therapy- BUT.... I guess I am left to ponder a huge question. If I consistently used food to gloss over feelings, to feel good, and to have a sort of a quick "high"... then was I ever really "myself"??? Oh geez, this is starting to sound more like I might need help a la Dr. Phil...
I spent many years of my life trying to fit in. This peaked pretty much in High School, where I achieved true chameleon-like status. I tried SO hard to have SO many friends that I would have a mini-crisis at lunch because I would have no idea which table to sit at. Combine this with my being an innate people-pleaser, one could clearly see the havoc this would cause in my noggin. I was trying so hard to be everyone's friend that I bent every which way like Gumby - and truly lost who I was. Thankfully by the last year, I had "grown a pair" and realised that I needed to be me.
Sadly, I was still a "me" that used food as a tool...
So who the heck am I now? I guess deep down I'm the same me, without a lot of the insecurities of youth. But I'm left to figure out a few things yet. Is there anything left over from my first 40 years that I haven't dealt with? Is there anything that I would use food to mask right now? Are there residual feelings or experiences that I have pushed aside... ones that might now begin to hamper my progress?
I hope not. Honestly, I don't think so.
I guess I'm kind of feeling a little like a newborn. While babies are adorable, heart-snatching little bundles of joy - there remains the fact that they are bare, often-stinky, blank slates.
Am I a blank slate? Sort of. Thankfully, I'm not stinky - but I'm definitely feeling bare without my crutch...
Saturday, 26 January 2013
Disconnect
Before surgery, food would do a few things for me. First of all, if I was hungry, it would fill me up. It would also often make me feel good - I would relish the taste of most of what I ate. Last but not least, it provided a disconnect from everything else around me. After all, no matter what else was in front of me, if there was food - it took precedence.
Did I have an unhealthy relationship with food? Yes. Obviously. I don't know many super-obese or morbidly-obese people who have a healthy relationship with food.
My biggest struggle now is eating and drinking. It seems that this is normal, and to be expected.
However, it is not my only struggle. The haven that food used to provide is gone. I feel somewhat laid bare by the absence of the disconnect that food used to provide. Mindless eating, after all, used to mean that I didn't even think about what I was putting in my mouth. Now it is the opposite. Not only do I have to think about it, but I have to constantly evaluate what I am eating, when I am eating, and if I am tolerating "enough" food to meet my nutritional goals.
My drug of choice - food - no longer is available to fill the gaps that it used to.
Whatever will I do to fill the void?
I've considered the alternatives. Alcohol is not a good one. It can really mess up the new sleeve. Well, I guess there's sex, but then again I only have so much physio coverage HAHAH! Some around me have suggested that I take up knitting or crocheting. That just makes me think of the old cat lady, sitting in her chair, knitting endless blankets and surrounded by a housefull of cats. Not my thing.
So... I have a solution for now that seems to be working. My plan is to get active. So far I have the green light on "gentle" swimming, so I have taken up the cause and decided to treat my time at the pool as an escape.
Besides, maybe if I open my mouth while I swim, I'll actually get in enough fluids for the day!
Glub glub....
Did I have an unhealthy relationship with food? Yes. Obviously. I don't know many super-obese or morbidly-obese people who have a healthy relationship with food.
My biggest struggle now is eating and drinking. It seems that this is normal, and to be expected.
However, it is not my only struggle. The haven that food used to provide is gone. I feel somewhat laid bare by the absence of the disconnect that food used to provide. Mindless eating, after all, used to mean that I didn't even think about what I was putting in my mouth. Now it is the opposite. Not only do I have to think about it, but I have to constantly evaluate what I am eating, when I am eating, and if I am tolerating "enough" food to meet my nutritional goals.
My drug of choice - food - no longer is available to fill the gaps that it used to.
Whatever will I do to fill the void?
I've considered the alternatives. Alcohol is not a good one. It can really mess up the new sleeve. Well, I guess there's sex, but then again I only have so much physio coverage HAHAH! Some around me have suggested that I take up knitting or crocheting. That just makes me think of the old cat lady, sitting in her chair, knitting endless blankets and surrounded by a housefull of cats. Not my thing.
So... I have a solution for now that seems to be working. My plan is to get active. So far I have the green light on "gentle" swimming, so I have taken up the cause and decided to treat my time at the pool as an escape.
Besides, maybe if I open my mouth while I swim, I'll actually get in enough fluids for the day!
Glub glub....
Sunday, 13 January 2013
The "Pre and Post" Post
Life has changed immesely with this sleeve. Here's a little glimpse of what a day in my life looked like before the sleeve, and what it looks like now.
A Day in My Life: Pre-Sleeve
Get up. Grab headboard to roll self to side of bed. Sit on side of bed. Get out of bed. Drag self to bathroom. Sit back on bed to get dressed. Carefully descend top flight of stairs to main floor as back is aching. Once on main floor shlep self to front of fridge to contemplate breakfast. Not hungy as stomache still has food from last night. Sometimes force self to eat something not neccessarily of any particular food group, most times not. Drink something to take pill for back pain. Seek refuge in comfy recliner. (General rule of the day is to move as little as is possible.) Continue to think about food as hunger increases. Plan lunch. Execute lunch - all while planning and fantasizing about supper. Cook or procure supper. Later that night eat again as still hungry (shouldn't have skipped breakkie maybe??). Shlep self back up over the stairs and into bed. Eat a TUM (reflux, but then again I'm lying down soon after eating...).
A Day in My Life: Post-Sleeve
Get up. Get out of bed. Use bathroom. Get dressed. Hit the kitchen - HAVE TO DRINK SOMETHING!! Take medication. Evaluate meals planned for the day. Am I getting enough protein? Wait 30 minutes and eat breakfast carefully and slowly. 30 minutes later start sipping again. Keep hydrated. Consult daily "to do list". Shopping? Housework? Appointments? Not hungry but must eat. Lunch already planned. Stop drinking 30 minutes prior. Eat lunch (slowly, as that is the only way I can eat). Focus on stomache - is food tolerated? Chew each small mouthful at least 30 times to a paste. Log all morsels in daily food diary app. 30 minutes later... keep drinking! Stay hydrated! Get out. Do something. Avoid recliner (or limit use). Drink! Remember to stop drinking 30 minutes prior to supper (which again has already been planned due to neccessity). Eat supper carefully. Wait 30 minutes. Drink drink drink. Drink again. Evaluate day's progress re nutrition. Did I get enough protein? Did I drink enough liquid? Plan meals for next couple of days. Sleep.
In a nutshell, pre-sleeve my life was pretty much consumed by food. When I would eat, what I would eat. I would fantasize about the next meal while eating the current meal.
Now that I'm sleeved, I have to remember to eat and to drink. I do need to plan meals and think about their nutritional content, BUT there is no fantasy involved - food has lost its allure. It is quite a battle actually to try and plan meals when I am never hungry. It is also a struggle to eat (and to drink!) - the process is exhausting. It seems like with this surgery everything that I consume requires thought and preparation. Mindless eating is not an option (thank GOD!).
Some people refer to weight loss surgery as "the easy way out". Is it easy? Hell no. If I neglect myself I will end up in hospital within 24-28 hours. This is a constant battle of trying to eat - trying to digest food - trying to drink enough liquid. The only easy part of the whole thing for me is that I am physically unable to over-eat, but that has come at a cost.
That being said, this is the best decision I have ever made. This surgery has changed my life. Overeating is no longer an option - once my sleeve has had enough it lets me know by pressure and pain. Mindless eating is no longer an option - I can only consume so little that it has to be as nutritionally sufficient as is possible. Sure I could neglect myself still - for example, by skipping meals or liquids. However now it is much more serious, with the outcome being dehydration requiring hospitalization.
Aside from moving better and feeling better, I have become ultimately aware of and accountable for what I put in my body. While it is a complex struggle, it is a fight that I'm happy to have for the rest of my life.
I would rather live this life as a participant than as an observer, so fight I will!
A Day in My Life: Pre-Sleeve
Get up. Grab headboard to roll self to side of bed. Sit on side of bed. Get out of bed. Drag self to bathroom. Sit back on bed to get dressed. Carefully descend top flight of stairs to main floor as back is aching. Once on main floor shlep self to front of fridge to contemplate breakfast. Not hungy as stomache still has food from last night. Sometimes force self to eat something not neccessarily of any particular food group, most times not. Drink something to take pill for back pain. Seek refuge in comfy recliner. (General rule of the day is to move as little as is possible.) Continue to think about food as hunger increases. Plan lunch. Execute lunch - all while planning and fantasizing about supper. Cook or procure supper. Later that night eat again as still hungry (shouldn't have skipped breakkie maybe??). Shlep self back up over the stairs and into bed. Eat a TUM (reflux, but then again I'm lying down soon after eating...).
A Day in My Life: Post-Sleeve
Get up. Get out of bed. Use bathroom. Get dressed. Hit the kitchen - HAVE TO DRINK SOMETHING!! Take medication. Evaluate meals planned for the day. Am I getting enough protein? Wait 30 minutes and eat breakfast carefully and slowly. 30 minutes later start sipping again. Keep hydrated. Consult daily "to do list". Shopping? Housework? Appointments? Not hungry but must eat. Lunch already planned. Stop drinking 30 minutes prior. Eat lunch (slowly, as that is the only way I can eat). Focus on stomache - is food tolerated? Chew each small mouthful at least 30 times to a paste. Log all morsels in daily food diary app. 30 minutes later... keep drinking! Stay hydrated! Get out. Do something. Avoid recliner (or limit use). Drink! Remember to stop drinking 30 minutes prior to supper (which again has already been planned due to neccessity). Eat supper carefully. Wait 30 minutes. Drink drink drink. Drink again. Evaluate day's progress re nutrition. Did I get enough protein? Did I drink enough liquid? Plan meals for next couple of days. Sleep.
In a nutshell, pre-sleeve my life was pretty much consumed by food. When I would eat, what I would eat. I would fantasize about the next meal while eating the current meal.
Now that I'm sleeved, I have to remember to eat and to drink. I do need to plan meals and think about their nutritional content, BUT there is no fantasy involved - food has lost its allure. It is quite a battle actually to try and plan meals when I am never hungry. It is also a struggle to eat (and to drink!) - the process is exhausting. It seems like with this surgery everything that I consume requires thought and preparation. Mindless eating is not an option (thank GOD!).
Some people refer to weight loss surgery as "the easy way out". Is it easy? Hell no. If I neglect myself I will end up in hospital within 24-28 hours. This is a constant battle of trying to eat - trying to digest food - trying to drink enough liquid. The only easy part of the whole thing for me is that I am physically unable to over-eat, but that has come at a cost.
That being said, this is the best decision I have ever made. This surgery has changed my life. Overeating is no longer an option - once my sleeve has had enough it lets me know by pressure and pain. Mindless eating is no longer an option - I can only consume so little that it has to be as nutritionally sufficient as is possible. Sure I could neglect myself still - for example, by skipping meals or liquids. However now it is much more serious, with the outcome being dehydration requiring hospitalization.
Aside from moving better and feeling better, I have become ultimately aware of and accountable for what I put in my body. While it is a complex struggle, it is a fight that I'm happy to have for the rest of my life.
I would rather live this life as a participant than as an observer, so fight I will!
Wednesday, 9 January 2013
Weightless
There is danger with placing the emphasis on weight loss solely on the weight that is lost.
Since surgery, my body has been changing at a very fast pace. Aside from my shape, I'm noticing that my stamina has increased dramatically. We live in a 3-story townhouse, and pre-surgery I detested the stairs. Honestly - if I was on the 2nd story and realized that I had left something on the 3rd floor, it was more often than not likely to remain on the 3rd floor until I had to go up there. Moving around at 414lbs was not fun by any means, as you can probably imagine.
Yesterday I surprised my Hubby. See, Hubby does all of the laundry in our house - he calls it a fair trade to not have to do the bathrooms hahaha! Yesterday on the way out the door, he brought our laundry down the 2 flights of stairs so that he could get at it when he got home in the evening. Well, I woke up so full of energy that I looked for something to do that did not involve our comfy recliner. I did a little light housework and then hopped down the stairs and started in on the laundry. Hubby returned home to not only 5 loads of laundry done, but a wonderful meal of steak and veggies for his supper. I even made a lemon sponge cake for dessert which he didn't touch (he is really working at trying to decipher when he is "full", and he is doing great! My supper meal consisted of 50 grams of diced chicken with a little (1tsp) spinach dip on the side. I could not eat all of it so I gladly stored the leftovers. At the end of the meal, we each had enough left for another meal. By the way - one of the after-effects of a VSG means a fridge full of left-overs and partial meals. I'm saving a fortune here people!!
Anyhow - I wanted to talk about weight. Even though I've just had surgery to lose weight, I have to say that the biggest motivator is not the scales - it is how GOOD I feel. I can go up the stairs now without even thinking about it. One day last week I walked through two malls with my Mom in the same day. The last time I can remember doing that was in Junior High School (25 years ago...). I didn't even realize that I had done that until we got home.
There is danger with placing the emphasis on weight loss solely on the weight that is lost. There - I've said it again because it bears repeating.
See, if I measure my success only by the numbers on the scale, I would not get the full picture of my journey. Yes, I've lost 30 pounds. BUT, I've gained the ability to move much better. To climb stairs without hesitating or bemoaning their existence. To walk more than I had in 2.5 decades. To fit into smaller clothing. To feel vibrant, full of energy, and capable of just about anything.
I have met more than a few people on this journey who are addicted to the scales. Some of my "sleeve sisters" weigh every day. Some even weigh multiple times a day. And for what? To watch the weight fall off in decimals? To beat themselves up when there is a stall? To give themselves a reason to wonder what they are doing wrong?? This frustrates me to no end, because I'm just as guilty. During my time at WW, I learned to detest the weekly weigh-in. There was just so much pressure that I put on myself every week. Would I lose "enough"? Would I be good "enough"? I have decided to only weigh at clinical appointments so that I can avoid the same torture on a routine basis.
I have often wished that I could be weightless. Seeing as I'm not an astronaut, the only place that I can achieve weightlessness is in the pool which I LOVE. There is no way to ignore my weight on this journey, but I am going to actively refuse to beat myself up or try to measure my progress against anyone else.
Fact is - I feel better, I move better, I look better, and I'm living better.
Sarah McLachlan pretty much sums up how I feel in her song Angel:
"There's always some reason
To feel not good enough,
And it's hard, at the end of the day.
I need some distraction,
Oh, beautiful release.
Memories seep from my veins.
Let me be empty,
Oh, and weightless,
And maybe I'll find some peace tonight."
You can listen to it by playing the video below:
Since surgery, my body has been changing at a very fast pace. Aside from my shape, I'm noticing that my stamina has increased dramatically. We live in a 3-story townhouse, and pre-surgery I detested the stairs. Honestly - if I was on the 2nd story and realized that I had left something on the 3rd floor, it was more often than not likely to remain on the 3rd floor until I had to go up there. Moving around at 414lbs was not fun by any means, as you can probably imagine.
Yesterday I surprised my Hubby. See, Hubby does all of the laundry in our house - he calls it a fair trade to not have to do the bathrooms hahaha! Yesterday on the way out the door, he brought our laundry down the 2 flights of stairs so that he could get at it when he got home in the evening. Well, I woke up so full of energy that I looked for something to do that did not involve our comfy recliner. I did a little light housework and then hopped down the stairs and started in on the laundry. Hubby returned home to not only 5 loads of laundry done, but a wonderful meal of steak and veggies for his supper. I even made a lemon sponge cake for dessert which he didn't touch (he is really working at trying to decipher when he is "full", and he is doing great! My supper meal consisted of 50 grams of diced chicken with a little (1tsp) spinach dip on the side. I could not eat all of it so I gladly stored the leftovers. At the end of the meal, we each had enough left for another meal. By the way - one of the after-effects of a VSG means a fridge full of left-overs and partial meals. I'm saving a fortune here people!!
Anyhow - I wanted to talk about weight. Even though I've just had surgery to lose weight, I have to say that the biggest motivator is not the scales - it is how GOOD I feel. I can go up the stairs now without even thinking about it. One day last week I walked through two malls with my Mom in the same day. The last time I can remember doing that was in Junior High School (25 years ago...). I didn't even realize that I had done that until we got home.
There is danger with placing the emphasis on weight loss solely on the weight that is lost. There - I've said it again because it bears repeating.
See, if I measure my success only by the numbers on the scale, I would not get the full picture of my journey. Yes, I've lost 30 pounds. BUT, I've gained the ability to move much better. To climb stairs without hesitating or bemoaning their existence. To walk more than I had in 2.5 decades. To fit into smaller clothing. To feel vibrant, full of energy, and capable of just about anything.
I have met more than a few people on this journey who are addicted to the scales. Some of my "sleeve sisters" weigh every day. Some even weigh multiple times a day. And for what? To watch the weight fall off in decimals? To beat themselves up when there is a stall? To give themselves a reason to wonder what they are doing wrong?? This frustrates me to no end, because I'm just as guilty. During my time at WW, I learned to detest the weekly weigh-in. There was just so much pressure that I put on myself every week. Would I lose "enough"? Would I be good "enough"? I have decided to only weigh at clinical appointments so that I can avoid the same torture on a routine basis.
I have often wished that I could be weightless. Seeing as I'm not an astronaut, the only place that I can achieve weightlessness is in the pool which I LOVE. There is no way to ignore my weight on this journey, but I am going to actively refuse to beat myself up or try to measure my progress against anyone else.
Fact is - I feel better, I move better, I look better, and I'm living better.
Sarah McLachlan pretty much sums up how I feel in her song Angel:
"There's always some reason
To feel not good enough,
And it's hard, at the end of the day.
I need some distraction,
Oh, beautiful release.
Memories seep from my veins.
Let me be empty,
Oh, and weightless,
And maybe I'll find some peace tonight."
You can listen to it by playing the video below:
Monday, 7 January 2013
4 Week Update!
Ok, so it is officially 4 weeks out from surgery. Tra la la :) ... I'm skipping and twirling and dancing even as I type this LOL.
A lot of people have been asking me how I've been feeling. Well, the best way to put it is that I feel totally new. Reborn. Unearthed. 130%. Top notch. Like a quadrillion dollars. Food has lost it's glimmer. No longer beckoning to me in my mind. It has completely lost its power, and I am free from the constant thoughts of it. I am no longer hungry - at all. While I've heard that hunger might return, I also know that it can be silenced with a drink of water!
See, food used to taunt me. It was a constant presence in my mind, even if I wasn't fully aware of it. I'd think of groceries that we needed, and go get them. Now, first of all, it has to be said that for me personally a trip to the grocery store was like sending an alcoholic on a pub-crawl. Except for the rare occasions where I would be pressed for time and would dash in and out of the store - most of the time I would walk up and down the aisles pushing a cart with a glazed look in my eyes (and yes, sometimes maybe even a little drool...). Even better, when I'd come home from the shop and put it away, I'd find things in my own cupboards that would have the same effect. As someone who loves food and seriously loves to cook - setting me loose at the supermarket was like sending a kid to Disney. Even better, once all of the food was bought, put away, and the evening meal planned - I would already be thinking about the next thing I would eat and/or make. It has been this way for me since the dawn of time.
Now - food is just food. It is like the kibble that we give our precious dog. The freedom of hunger is one thing. The freedom of fantasizing about food is another. This is very much a battle here. See, I can only eat so much. I'm on "mushies" now, which is things like mashed carrots, peanut butter, and ground turkey (not together mind you YUCK!). Say for example I am sitting down to eat supper. I take the food and mash it, then it takes a l-o-n-g time to consume the small amount that I can eat. Aside from the physical battle of figuring out what my stomache will tolerate and dealing with the wrath when things don't go down well... I have a mental battle of honestly trying to REMEMBER to eat and even to drink. It's like I've done a 180 and I'm in a new and foreign land (which I never hope to leave!!).
I learned a great lesson this week. I went to a movie, which previously would have been an expedition of eating to excess. We're talking popcorn, a hotdog, a bar, and yes - sometimes even a pretzel. (Not to mention the ginormous soda!). This all would have been bad enough but I'm the kind of person who drenches the popcorn with a sea of butter from the machine - I would honestly stand there with my thumb on the button so long that I'd have to shift from one foot to the other. I can't even imagine now how I could ever eat that amount or even that food! Anyhow, so I'm at the theatre in the lineup. The smells hit me first - the fresh popcorn (which is a definite no-no for someone recently sleeved as I've heard it can wreck the staple line!), the butter... you know how this goes.
I look at my options. Really, all that I could have would have been bottled water, juice, or frozen yogurt. Well, let me tell you - I've been freezing cold since surgery, and the thoughts of having anything frozen was less than appealing. So I went with nachos (no salsa of course!).
I had one bite of one nacho, and after 30 chews, I swallowed.
UUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH
My sleeve did NOT want nachos. So I did what anyone would do. I threw them out!! And I went back and ordered frozen yogurt even though I could only have 1/4 Cup before I was stuffed like a turkey.
What did I learn?? That it is 100% OK to go to a movie and NOT EAT. Man, I'm going to save a bloody fortune hahaha!
Now - the update. I have to admit, I was really hesitant to get weighed today. I actually came up with a plan yesterday that I would not weigh for one year. Yup, that was my plan. That way, I'd have to have at least something gone in a year, right??
Well, after talking to a bunch of my sleeve sisters, I realized that my thinking was yet again screwed up. Thankfully they gave me a collective boot in the "arse" and set me straight. Fact is, I NEED to weigh - just so that I can catch bad habits down the road and turn things around if I'm getting slack.
Anyhow - the update from the Dr. today was great. 30 pounds down in the 4 weeks since surgery. When I did Weight Watchers a few years ago it took me 8 months to lose 40 pounds, so this puts my progress in perspective. My initial feeling was wondering what my other friends had lost at 4 weeks out, but let's face it, we are all individuals - and I shouldn't compare myself to others. I'm ME! And I'm totally delighted to be 30 lbs less than I was 28 days ago. YAY! Makes me wonder what I'll be when I weigh again at my follow-up appointment in 4 weeks.
No worries - of course I'll keep you posted ;)
A lot of people have been asking me how I've been feeling. Well, the best way to put it is that I feel totally new. Reborn. Unearthed. 130%. Top notch. Like a quadrillion dollars. Food has lost it's glimmer. No longer beckoning to me in my mind. It has completely lost its power, and I am free from the constant thoughts of it. I am no longer hungry - at all. While I've heard that hunger might return, I also know that it can be silenced with a drink of water!
See, food used to taunt me. It was a constant presence in my mind, even if I wasn't fully aware of it. I'd think of groceries that we needed, and go get them. Now, first of all, it has to be said that for me personally a trip to the grocery store was like sending an alcoholic on a pub-crawl. Except for the rare occasions where I would be pressed for time and would dash in and out of the store - most of the time I would walk up and down the aisles pushing a cart with a glazed look in my eyes (and yes, sometimes maybe even a little drool...). Even better, when I'd come home from the shop and put it away, I'd find things in my own cupboards that would have the same effect. As someone who loves food and seriously loves to cook - setting me loose at the supermarket was like sending a kid to Disney. Even better, once all of the food was bought, put away, and the evening meal planned - I would already be thinking about the next thing I would eat and/or make. It has been this way for me since the dawn of time.
Now - food is just food. It is like the kibble that we give our precious dog. The freedom of hunger is one thing. The freedom of fantasizing about food is another. This is very much a battle here. See, I can only eat so much. I'm on "mushies" now, which is things like mashed carrots, peanut butter, and ground turkey (not together mind you YUCK!). Say for example I am sitting down to eat supper. I take the food and mash it, then it takes a l-o-n-g time to consume the small amount that I can eat. Aside from the physical battle of figuring out what my stomache will tolerate and dealing with the wrath when things don't go down well... I have a mental battle of honestly trying to REMEMBER to eat and even to drink. It's like I've done a 180 and I'm in a new and foreign land (which I never hope to leave!!).
I learned a great lesson this week. I went to a movie, which previously would have been an expedition of eating to excess. We're talking popcorn, a hotdog, a bar, and yes - sometimes even a pretzel. (Not to mention the ginormous soda!). This all would have been bad enough but I'm the kind of person who drenches the popcorn with a sea of butter from the machine - I would honestly stand there with my thumb on the button so long that I'd have to shift from one foot to the other. I can't even imagine now how I could ever eat that amount or even that food! Anyhow, so I'm at the theatre in the lineup. The smells hit me first - the fresh popcorn (which is a definite no-no for someone recently sleeved as I've heard it can wreck the staple line!), the butter... you know how this goes.
I look at my options. Really, all that I could have would have been bottled water, juice, or frozen yogurt. Well, let me tell you - I've been freezing cold since surgery, and the thoughts of having anything frozen was less than appealing. So I went with nachos (no salsa of course!).
I had one bite of one nacho, and after 30 chews, I swallowed.
UUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH
My sleeve did NOT want nachos. So I did what anyone would do. I threw them out!! And I went back and ordered frozen yogurt even though I could only have 1/4 Cup before I was stuffed like a turkey.
What did I learn?? That it is 100% OK to go to a movie and NOT EAT. Man, I'm going to save a bloody fortune hahaha!
Now - the update. I have to admit, I was really hesitant to get weighed today. I actually came up with a plan yesterday that I would not weigh for one year. Yup, that was my plan. That way, I'd have to have at least something gone in a year, right??
Well, after talking to a bunch of my sleeve sisters, I realized that my thinking was yet again screwed up. Thankfully they gave me a collective boot in the "arse" and set me straight. Fact is, I NEED to weigh - just so that I can catch bad habits down the road and turn things around if I'm getting slack.
Anyhow - the update from the Dr. today was great. 30 pounds down in the 4 weeks since surgery. When I did Weight Watchers a few years ago it took me 8 months to lose 40 pounds, so this puts my progress in perspective. My initial feeling was wondering what my other friends had lost at 4 weeks out, but let's face it, we are all individuals - and I shouldn't compare myself to others. I'm ME! And I'm totally delighted to be 30 lbs less than I was 28 days ago. YAY! Makes me wonder what I'll be when I weigh again at my follow-up appointment in 4 weeks.
No worries - of course I'll keep you posted ;)
Tuesday, 1 January 2013
No Pain - No Gain
I have to say, I'm one of the lucky ones in terms of recovering from my VSG surgery. I had no complications at all. I was up, dressed, and walking the halls of the hospital one short hour after returning to the floor after surgery. Even better, my staples caused me no drama - and other than the normal and expected odd gas discomfort - I would never know that I had major surgery 3 short weeks ago.
I still have no idea how much weight I've lost. I'm gearing myself up to step on the scales though, as I will be seeing my Dr. next week at my 4 week post-op appointment, and I will be weighing then. My clothes are looser, my watch is looser, and my rings are floating on my fingers. Thankfully I took my measurements the night before surgery so that I will always have something to compare to in case the scales are not tipping in my favour.
That being said, this surgery makes it hard to go wrong. It is simply not possible for me to eat anything in any amount, so cheating is more like putting a piece of chocolate on your tongue instead of hitting the Golden Arches for 2 plus-sized combos. My friends have helped me realise many things along the way so far, one of which is that I need to lose my fear of fooling this up.
In the sleeve world, there are ways to go wrong. Carbonated drinks, for example, can bloat the sleeve and actually encourage it to stretch a little. No problem for me - I bade them farewell without an issue and don't miss them at all. Other questionable behaviour includes drinking alcohol simply because it messes with your system - one drink might now actually put you at intoxicated - or on the other hand, it may now take an excess amount to even feel a buzz. No problem for me - I won't drink. (I didn't drink til I was 34 and met Hubby, so I have no issues returning to the "non-drinker" status. I made the mistake of receiving communion while at church on Christmas Eve, and let me tell you the pain of the wine hitting my sleeve was something that I don't care to revisit anytime soon!
In terms of food, a very long way away from where I am right now, I will be able to eat just about anything - but in smaller portions. Of course like anything, if I consistently try to push the envelope with portions I can also stretch the sleeve - but the part of the stomache that has been removed is the most elastic part, so even this sabotage would take a very long time. (Not that I want to sabotage!!).
Neglect - which I have been guilty of my whole lifetime - is more of a concern. I no longer have any hunger. This requires me to actively think about needing to eat something now - and even drink liquid. If I dive into mindless behaviour such as channel surfing or playing video games, I could very well skip all meals and all liquid requirements. I think that is the biggest possibility of failure - because the potential is there to totally wreck my metabolism.
So today - marking the new year - I have realised that I need to try my best to actually observe 3 meals a day. I started with oatmeal, ate a half cup and was full. For lunch I had vegetable soup broth and it was glorious. And for supper we were invited out to my Brother in Law's for ham and all of the fixins. I'm very happy to report that I managed to eat 4 tablespoons of mashed turnip, carrot, and potato. Then I was as stuffed as I had ever been... and it all went down fine (after chewing very small portions extensively of course).
I am wrestling a little with heartburn and reflux and have been since surgery. In the coming weeks and months with medical supervision I will hopefully find a prescription that fixes these little issues. But overall, I feel absolutely top-notch. 110 percent. I'm returning to work in 3 weeks and I'm looking forward to it - but I have to stop napping first lol! This should be easier once I am able to consume more calories for energy.
I have no pain.... and any luck at all I'll have no gain.
I guess I couldn't possibly hope for anything more!!
I still have no idea how much weight I've lost. I'm gearing myself up to step on the scales though, as I will be seeing my Dr. next week at my 4 week post-op appointment, and I will be weighing then. My clothes are looser, my watch is looser, and my rings are floating on my fingers. Thankfully I took my measurements the night before surgery so that I will always have something to compare to in case the scales are not tipping in my favour.
That being said, this surgery makes it hard to go wrong. It is simply not possible for me to eat anything in any amount, so cheating is more like putting a piece of chocolate on your tongue instead of hitting the Golden Arches for 2 plus-sized combos. My friends have helped me realise many things along the way so far, one of which is that I need to lose my fear of fooling this up.
In the sleeve world, there are ways to go wrong. Carbonated drinks, for example, can bloat the sleeve and actually encourage it to stretch a little. No problem for me - I bade them farewell without an issue and don't miss them at all. Other questionable behaviour includes drinking alcohol simply because it messes with your system - one drink might now actually put you at intoxicated - or on the other hand, it may now take an excess amount to even feel a buzz. No problem for me - I won't drink. (I didn't drink til I was 34 and met Hubby, so I have no issues returning to the "non-drinker" status. I made the mistake of receiving communion while at church on Christmas Eve, and let me tell you the pain of the wine hitting my sleeve was something that I don't care to revisit anytime soon!
In terms of food, a very long way away from where I am right now, I will be able to eat just about anything - but in smaller portions. Of course like anything, if I consistently try to push the envelope with portions I can also stretch the sleeve - but the part of the stomache that has been removed is the most elastic part, so even this sabotage would take a very long time. (Not that I want to sabotage!!).
Neglect - which I have been guilty of my whole lifetime - is more of a concern. I no longer have any hunger. This requires me to actively think about needing to eat something now - and even drink liquid. If I dive into mindless behaviour such as channel surfing or playing video games, I could very well skip all meals and all liquid requirements. I think that is the biggest possibility of failure - because the potential is there to totally wreck my metabolism.
So today - marking the new year - I have realised that I need to try my best to actually observe 3 meals a day. I started with oatmeal, ate a half cup and was full. For lunch I had vegetable soup broth and it was glorious. And for supper we were invited out to my Brother in Law's for ham and all of the fixins. I'm very happy to report that I managed to eat 4 tablespoons of mashed turnip, carrot, and potato. Then I was as stuffed as I had ever been... and it all went down fine (after chewing very small portions extensively of course).
I am wrestling a little with heartburn and reflux and have been since surgery. In the coming weeks and months with medical supervision I will hopefully find a prescription that fixes these little issues. But overall, I feel absolutely top-notch. 110 percent. I'm returning to work in 3 weeks and I'm looking forward to it - but I have to stop napping first lol! This should be easier once I am able to consume more calories for energy.
I have no pain.... and any luck at all I'll have no gain.
I guess I couldn't possibly hope for anything more!!
Monday, 31 December 2012
Goodbye 2012 Hello 2013
The New Year will be upon us all in but a few hours. Hard to imagine that 2012 is done already! This has not been an easy year for us. A year ago we started Operation Stork, and honestly I was pretty convinced that it would happen within a couple of months. But alas, it was not meant to be I guess. This year also saw the deaths of a couple of close family members which was difficult for sure.
However, 2012 has been a wonderful year in some ways. I will always remember this year as the one in which I was sleeved. Even though it was only 3 weeks ago and therefore really at the end of the year, the procedure was definitely my high point for this past year. Before this, I had been drifting aimlessly waiting for either the Stork or for surgery, and at least one of the two happened!
I can't help but wonder what might lie ahead in 2013. The most obvious wish that I have would be that I lose a little weight and gain healthy tendencies. I have absolutely no idea what I can expect with regards to weight loss, but at least I can expect to lose. After the epic fail of last night, today my total intake has been liquids (mostly water and a little apple juice), 1/3 of a bowl of oatmeal, and 1 scrambled egg with a slice of low-fat cheese. And I was stuffed after each "meal".
This coming year will certainly be one of discovery as I get to know my sleeve and what it will (or more prominently will NOT) tolerate. I am enjoying the feeling of restriction in a way that has never been possible. With every morsel that I ingest or even every sip that I drink I constantly have to evaluate my body's response. This, in turn, makes me far more in tune with my body than I ever have been before. I look back at all of the mindless eating of my past, and I'm boggled at how quick I could shovel in a major amount of food and not even have to think about how my body reacted to it. I am thankful and ecstatic that I am not able to do that anymore. I am also really happy that when I have a little bit to eat or drink, I quickly fill up and feel very satisfied. Hunger has not been a part of my life now for 3 weeks, and life is completely different.
Honestly I have no idea if I'll ever get pregnant. But, at least now I do know that I'm going to be much healthier and much happier. I will be a better person - and hopefully a better Mom - than I would have been had my weight continued to climb.
Specific things I'm looking forward to for 2013: re-joining a local gym (I think I'll start back with Curves because I had SUCH fun there), re-joining Zumba, re-joining Water Fitness. Actually, I'm looking forward to re-joining living my life.
I can't imagine how much better I will be a year from now. Not solely because my weight will be lower, but I'll be actively pursuing life instead of watching it drift by.
In 2013 I will continue to get to know my new sleeve.
In 2013 I will learn to eat based on nutrition.
In 2013 I will be active and will pursue physical endeavours.
In 2013 I will travel to Europe for 3 weeks.
In 2013 I will NOT have to wait for a stork, or wait to have surgery.
In 2013 I will LIVE.
Happy New Year to us all!
However, 2012 has been a wonderful year in some ways. I will always remember this year as the one in which I was sleeved. Even though it was only 3 weeks ago and therefore really at the end of the year, the procedure was definitely my high point for this past year. Before this, I had been drifting aimlessly waiting for either the Stork or for surgery, and at least one of the two happened!
I can't help but wonder what might lie ahead in 2013. The most obvious wish that I have would be that I lose a little weight and gain healthy tendencies. I have absolutely no idea what I can expect with regards to weight loss, but at least I can expect to lose. After the epic fail of last night, today my total intake has been liquids (mostly water and a little apple juice), 1/3 of a bowl of oatmeal, and 1 scrambled egg with a slice of low-fat cheese. And I was stuffed after each "meal".
This coming year will certainly be one of discovery as I get to know my sleeve and what it will (or more prominently will NOT) tolerate. I am enjoying the feeling of restriction in a way that has never been possible. With every morsel that I ingest or even every sip that I drink I constantly have to evaluate my body's response. This, in turn, makes me far more in tune with my body than I ever have been before. I look back at all of the mindless eating of my past, and I'm boggled at how quick I could shovel in a major amount of food and not even have to think about how my body reacted to it. I am thankful and ecstatic that I am not able to do that anymore. I am also really happy that when I have a little bit to eat or drink, I quickly fill up and feel very satisfied. Hunger has not been a part of my life now for 3 weeks, and life is completely different.
Honestly I have no idea if I'll ever get pregnant. But, at least now I do know that I'm going to be much healthier and much happier. I will be a better person - and hopefully a better Mom - than I would have been had my weight continued to climb.
Specific things I'm looking forward to for 2013: re-joining a local gym (I think I'll start back with Curves because I had SUCH fun there), re-joining Zumba, re-joining Water Fitness. Actually, I'm looking forward to re-joining living my life.
I can't imagine how much better I will be a year from now. Not solely because my weight will be lower, but I'll be actively pursuing life instead of watching it drift by.
In 2013 I will continue to get to know my new sleeve.
In 2013 I will learn to eat based on nutrition.
In 2013 I will be active and will pursue physical endeavours.
In 2013 I will travel to Europe for 3 weeks.
In 2013 I will NOT have to wait for a stork, or wait to have surgery.
In 2013 I will LIVE.
Happy New Year to us all!
Sunday, 30 December 2012
Under Pressure
It might be hard to believe that I'm a perfectionist, given that I let my weight get up to over 400lbs. My house has its usual complement of dust bunnies, and the inside of my car is not show-room quality. I might even have a few garments hanging in my closet which are beyond "well worn" with buttons missing and the like. And trust me, the list goes on...
Perfection, as elusive - impossible - and even imaginary as it is, remains something that I seem to pressure myself about in certain aspects of my life. Thankfully I have known this about myself for a long time. I can actually pinpoint the exact moment when I became self-aware. It was in the Fall of my Grade 4 year which would put me at 9 years old. I had always done very well in school (being born a total people-pleaser made me try my hardest to do well academically to please my parents). In the early grades of Elementary school my academia consisted of things such as drawing trees, playing recorder, and learning about Roy G Biv and the colors of the rainbow. However, in Grade 4 there was a tangible difference in the level of learning. Tests were suddenly more challenging, and back then the results came in the form of a red number (a percentage) instead of a letter such as A+ at the top of the page. See, with an A+, it would not be unusual for others in the class to receive the same mark. Once the numbers - as in percentages - started to appear, I knew I was in for trouble.
My competition was a nice girl named Leslie. All I knew about her was that she owned a horse, and could draw beautiful pictures of it. She was friendly in a shy sort of way, and soft-spoken. Sitting across from me, I could easily see her results on any project or test that was handed back throughout the rows in the classroom. The two of us had pretty much been the kids in the class who did the best. Now, however, with the introduction of these forsaken percentages, it was clear who was actually on top. You guessed it, it was Leslie. I'll never forget the moment when I saw the bright red 100% gleaming on the top right corner of her test. It was if time had stood still. The person behind me had to kick my desk to remind me to keep passing the tests back down the row. When I looked down at my own paper, I had been given 98% (I had made an unusual spelling mistake somewhere in the page). Immediately the floodgates opened, and I had a new source of self-torture. On top of wondering things such as if I was actually the fattest kid in our town, if I was pretty enough, if I was gifted enough, if I was popular enough... I now had a concrete and irreparable source of comparing myself to everyone else - in the form of a bright red percentage on the top of every test. This led to me basically giving up. I still did ok in school, but once I received that first mark that was lower, I no longer saw myself as smart as I had before. In turn, I sank even further into my own dark world of not good enough - all because I had a mark that would still have been an A+ if I had just looked at it in a different way (OR chosen not to compare myself to others... OR chosen not to look at a classmate's paper!).
Fast forward 30 years. Thankfully some of the bumps along the road have been ironed out with a little maturity. I no longer compare myself to everyone in the room. BUT, I do have certain tendencies about perfection.
My VSG journey has been a source of such torment. During the 2 week liquid trial last spring, I lost 18lbs. I was delighted about this until I heard in our support group that another person lost 20lbs. The all-too familiar pangs of "not the best" started in my head. I pushed them aside. After all, this journey is about becoming a better me - not a perfect one - because let's face it, perfection is impossible. Besides, who in their right mind would want the pressure of being perfect???? I think that this is also playing a major role in my decision not to weigh myself, but I'll write more on that next time.
Last night officially marked 4 weeks that I have been on liquids (one week pre-surgery, and 3 weeks post.) While the liquid stage is prescribed for 4 weeks post-surgery, many of my friends in our support group have moved up to the next stage of mushy food at the same point that I am at. I had initially planned on being the "textbook" patient, and if liquids were advised for four weeks post-surgery, then this chick would be doing them exactly by the book. A couple of nights ago I was delighted to meet with 3 other girls from our support group - all of whom have been sleeved this Fall. We compared notes, and they encouraged me to stop being so analytical about my progress. (I had been afraid to swallow many things even though they are approved at the liquid stage). When I proclaimed my intention to stay on liquids for one more week - they laughed. Turns out I had been approaching this all wrong, as one explained. The liquid phase is meant to boost our recovery, and gradually introduce new foods to our new sleeve. (I had been hesitant to even consider adding anything new, and had not even started to conceive of adding a little texture other than fluids). Oops.
Armed with the knowledge that I had been putting myself under too much pressure to have a perfect journey (sensing a theme here....) I went home Friday night and tried a bowl of Cream of Wheat. By bowl of course I mean 2 spoonfulls. And although I detested Cream of Wheat as a child - I thoroughly enjoyed it and it went very well. The next day I even tried a slice of cheese (by "try" I mean that I nibbled a small corner and chewed it 30 times). It tasted like heaven and also went very well. Armed with the knowledge that I should at least consider trying some items from the mushy stage at this point, I moved forward.
Well. Last night I figured ok, try something else. I had 2 very thin slices of turkey breast from a deli and a small teaspoon of potato salad which I mashed to a paste. I took 20 minutes to chew these items thoroughly. It went well - or so I thought. Then the pain struck. Pain doesn't actually even begin to describe it. It was if there was a giant clamp on my innards, and that every scrap of the few morsels that I had ingested were suddenly at war with my digestive system. I sat at the table for an hour, head in my hands, and was so uncomfortable that I removed every piece of jewelry that I had on. I also got the shakes, and was freezing cold. I went to bed at 8pm wearing thick socks with my pajama pants tucked in, my pajama shirt tucked in to my pants, a sweater, and a wool winter cap. All of this was underneath fleece sheets, an electric blanket which was up as high as it could go, and 2 quilts.
I'm sitting here typing this at 3am as I could not lie down any longer. My stomache is still at war with my body, and there is an incredible amount of acid ascending my throat. Even the prescribed meds aren't helping... but I feel like things are easing off a little.
I have broken my record of perfect patient. I am no longer textbook. I pushed the envelope a little, and I failed miserably.
But - I learned a very important lesson in the process. I am not meant to be a perfect patient. That person doesn't exist. Also - through each stage of my progress I will need to be completely OK with trying new food and having them fail - or else I'll be relegated to a life of water and broth - and that is not perfect by any means!
Today I have decided to go forward with forgiveness and acceptance. I choose to remove the self-imposed pressure that I have been under, and accept the fact that this journey is meant to be one of trial and sometimes failure. I know that if I stick to some imaginary pursuit of the perfect journey I will only end up sadly disappointed.
Maybe that makes me the perfect patient afterall...
Perfection, as elusive - impossible - and even imaginary as it is, remains something that I seem to pressure myself about in certain aspects of my life. Thankfully I have known this about myself for a long time. I can actually pinpoint the exact moment when I became self-aware. It was in the Fall of my Grade 4 year which would put me at 9 years old. I had always done very well in school (being born a total people-pleaser made me try my hardest to do well academically to please my parents). In the early grades of Elementary school my academia consisted of things such as drawing trees, playing recorder, and learning about Roy G Biv and the colors of the rainbow. However, in Grade 4 there was a tangible difference in the level of learning. Tests were suddenly more challenging, and back then the results came in the form of a red number (a percentage) instead of a letter such as A+ at the top of the page. See, with an A+, it would not be unusual for others in the class to receive the same mark. Once the numbers - as in percentages - started to appear, I knew I was in for trouble.
My competition was a nice girl named Leslie. All I knew about her was that she owned a horse, and could draw beautiful pictures of it. She was friendly in a shy sort of way, and soft-spoken. Sitting across from me, I could easily see her results on any project or test that was handed back throughout the rows in the classroom. The two of us had pretty much been the kids in the class who did the best. Now, however, with the introduction of these forsaken percentages, it was clear who was actually on top. You guessed it, it was Leslie. I'll never forget the moment when I saw the bright red 100% gleaming on the top right corner of her test. It was if time had stood still. The person behind me had to kick my desk to remind me to keep passing the tests back down the row. When I looked down at my own paper, I had been given 98% (I had made an unusual spelling mistake somewhere in the page). Immediately the floodgates opened, and I had a new source of self-torture. On top of wondering things such as if I was actually the fattest kid in our town, if I was pretty enough, if I was gifted enough, if I was popular enough... I now had a concrete and irreparable source of comparing myself to everyone else - in the form of a bright red percentage on the top of every test. This led to me basically giving up. I still did ok in school, but once I received that first mark that was lower, I no longer saw myself as smart as I had before. In turn, I sank even further into my own dark world of not good enough - all because I had a mark that would still have been an A+ if I had just looked at it in a different way (OR chosen not to compare myself to others... OR chosen not to look at a classmate's paper!).
Fast forward 30 years. Thankfully some of the bumps along the road have been ironed out with a little maturity. I no longer compare myself to everyone in the room. BUT, I do have certain tendencies about perfection.
My VSG journey has been a source of such torment. During the 2 week liquid trial last spring, I lost 18lbs. I was delighted about this until I heard in our support group that another person lost 20lbs. The all-too familiar pangs of "not the best" started in my head. I pushed them aside. After all, this journey is about becoming a better me - not a perfect one - because let's face it, perfection is impossible. Besides, who in their right mind would want the pressure of being perfect???? I think that this is also playing a major role in my decision not to weigh myself, but I'll write more on that next time.
Last night officially marked 4 weeks that I have been on liquids (one week pre-surgery, and 3 weeks post.) While the liquid stage is prescribed for 4 weeks post-surgery, many of my friends in our support group have moved up to the next stage of mushy food at the same point that I am at. I had initially planned on being the "textbook" patient, and if liquids were advised for four weeks post-surgery, then this chick would be doing them exactly by the book. A couple of nights ago I was delighted to meet with 3 other girls from our support group - all of whom have been sleeved this Fall. We compared notes, and they encouraged me to stop being so analytical about my progress. (I had been afraid to swallow many things even though they are approved at the liquid stage). When I proclaimed my intention to stay on liquids for one more week - they laughed. Turns out I had been approaching this all wrong, as one explained. The liquid phase is meant to boost our recovery, and gradually introduce new foods to our new sleeve. (I had been hesitant to even consider adding anything new, and had not even started to conceive of adding a little texture other than fluids). Oops.
Armed with the knowledge that I had been putting myself under too much pressure to have a perfect journey (sensing a theme here....) I went home Friday night and tried a bowl of Cream of Wheat. By bowl of course I mean 2 spoonfulls. And although I detested Cream of Wheat as a child - I thoroughly enjoyed it and it went very well. The next day I even tried a slice of cheese (by "try" I mean that I nibbled a small corner and chewed it 30 times). It tasted like heaven and also went very well. Armed with the knowledge that I should at least consider trying some items from the mushy stage at this point, I moved forward.
Well. Last night I figured ok, try something else. I had 2 very thin slices of turkey breast from a deli and a small teaspoon of potato salad which I mashed to a paste. I took 20 minutes to chew these items thoroughly. It went well - or so I thought. Then the pain struck. Pain doesn't actually even begin to describe it. It was if there was a giant clamp on my innards, and that every scrap of the few morsels that I had ingested were suddenly at war with my digestive system. I sat at the table for an hour, head in my hands, and was so uncomfortable that I removed every piece of jewelry that I had on. I also got the shakes, and was freezing cold. I went to bed at 8pm wearing thick socks with my pajama pants tucked in, my pajama shirt tucked in to my pants, a sweater, and a wool winter cap. All of this was underneath fleece sheets, an electric blanket which was up as high as it could go, and 2 quilts.
I'm sitting here typing this at 3am as I could not lie down any longer. My stomache is still at war with my body, and there is an incredible amount of acid ascending my throat. Even the prescribed meds aren't helping... but I feel like things are easing off a little.
I have broken my record of perfect patient. I am no longer textbook. I pushed the envelope a little, and I failed miserably.
But - I learned a very important lesson in the process. I am not meant to be a perfect patient. That person doesn't exist. Also - through each stage of my progress I will need to be completely OK with trying new food and having them fail - or else I'll be relegated to a life of water and broth - and that is not perfect by any means!
Today I have decided to go forward with forgiveness and acceptance. I choose to remove the self-imposed pressure that I have been under, and accept the fact that this journey is meant to be one of trial and sometimes failure. I know that if I stick to some imaginary pursuit of the perfect journey I will only end up sadly disappointed.
Maybe that makes me the perfect patient afterall...
Thursday, 27 December 2012
The Unfit Physician
Thankfully the journey to my sleeve was followed very rigidly by a Bariatric Team. After the referral there was Orientation, clinical visits, extensive medical testing, fluid trials, and specialist appointments. I spent much of 2012 feeling like a lab rat and I honestly couldn't have been happier about it. I am VERY thankful that here in my province the procedure is new enough to warrant rigorous examination. I have follow up appointments with the Team and Surgeon for the next 5 years. I also opted to join a formal study of the VSG (Vertical Sleeve Gastrectomy) patients in hopes that the program might be extended to even more people. I was one of the lucky ones. I was referred just one year ago, and surgery was completed 12 months later. Right now the current wait time is 4-5 years.
If you've been reading this blog, you'll know that Hubby and I also spent this year trying to conceive. The plan had been that I would take whatever came first. Well, the call for surgery came in October so that ended all plans for Operation Stork. According to my surgeon and team, if things progress well for me in 2013 nutritionally, I will be given the green light to start trying again in one year.
Along the way we had a few bumps. Most notably this past August. Before I got the call with the surgery date, Hubby and I were referred to a local specialist with regards to pregnancy. Thankfully I had "googled" this Doctor and knew from comments on "Rate my MD" what to expect.
(Note: I understand that the issue of a morbidly obese female wishing to procreate is complex. And yet, it does not always have to be. The overall picture of your health cannot solely be based by the numbers on the scale. Yes, being morbidly obese makes me at risk for certain diseases. So does smoking, drinking, sun tanning... Remember, my blood pressure has always been normal. My bloodwork has always been perfect. My blood sugar has always been normal. Even my cholesterol was great! One specialist whom I saw early in 2012 -who was sadly not taking new patients - told me that she would rather have me as a patient at my weight than a person of a normal BMI who smoked. The doomsday scenario of a large lady bearing children as a disaster is simply old school and not accurate... and tales of pre-eclampsia, gestational diabetes, and septicemia are certainly valid yet are often exaggerated. Again - overall health has to include the numbers on the scale but cannot be limited or defined by them.)
Soooo.... Hubby and I went to said appointment. At this stage, it would not be unusual to perhaps try medical assistance such as clomid to boost ovulation.
Of course before we could see the Dr, a kind nurse took my height and weight. I briefly thought about skipping that step so that the Dr. would actually see ME and not the number. But, being ever the good girl I did as I was asked. Stepped on the scale, and while I prayed yet again that I hadn't gained, I also found myself praying that I had grown 5 inches or more to lessen the BMI. Don't worry, I know that is not possible!
We were brought to an exam room, although looking back there was certainly no need. The Dr. could have done the rest of this in the lobby (which, by the way, was plastered in wall to wall images of babies..... not exactly a good thing if you are there to find out that you are infertile...).
The Dr. breezed into the room, chart in hand. She was beautiful, with blonde hair and limbs that seemed to go on without end. She was thin and was as graceful as a ballerina. I'm not sure if she has ever been at war with her body or the scales, but she did not appear to be battling either that morning.
Without looking at me - she artfully dodged this by looking at the wall, the lamp, Hubby, the floor - she addressed me by name (although sadly it was not my name!) and although I gently corrected her, in the next 3 minutes she used 4 variations of names that were not mine. Not once did she look me in the eye.
Her message - which was succinctly delivered in 2 minutes flat - was that at my "current STATE" it would not be ethical for her to assist us on our journey to conceive.
-----
(Pause while I fill you in...)
First of all, a Dr. should be able to look at a patient, no matter how horrific they may appear. I assure you that other than being large, I am quite pleasant looking. I do not have horns, warts, or other physical deformities. I did not have anything in my teeth, nor boogers hanging from my nose...
Second, with all of the education these people get, a Dr. should be able to call you by the correct name. It is not a reach to assume she could read. And I know from seeing the chart that my name was clearly printed - right next to my height and weight. I don't know if she was stuck on the numbers in the weight box or what, but there is simply no excuse for calling me 5 different names especially when I had corrected her the first time...
Last but not least.... morbid obesity is a medical term. Some consider it a disease, and some a disability. To refer to my weight as a "STATE" was the worse than looking at the floor and calling me the wrong name... it was just plain uneducated.
-----
So... without any interaction from us, she stood up and as she exited through the door she turned and offered the only suggestion she had - "if you have 15 thousand dollars perhaps I could refer you to a clinic in Halifax where you could go to store your eggs IF you have any left." Exit Doctor, stage right.
Ironically, I left that appointment with my head held even higher. I didn't get assistance, information, or even guidance. But I got clarity: this lady was not meant to be our Specialist. End of story. A year from now, hopefully we will be given the green light to try again. Should we need another appointment it will simply be with someone else.
I called this post The Unfit Physician. Even though she was quite fit physically, she was not "fit" to communicate with patients - or at least those of us of size. People in the medical profession need to be able to communicate with patients, or at least address them with some modicum of professionalism. I didn't expect her to understand anything about me or my struggles with weight... come to think of it I didn't even speak other than to correct her on my name. She seemingly thought that she knew everything she needed to know about me based on the numbers on the scales - which is a very sad conclusion for a Dr. to make.
After all, "do no harm" means more than making a mistake during a procedure...
If you've been reading this blog, you'll know that Hubby and I also spent this year trying to conceive. The plan had been that I would take whatever came first. Well, the call for surgery came in October so that ended all plans for Operation Stork. According to my surgeon and team, if things progress well for me in 2013 nutritionally, I will be given the green light to start trying again in one year.
Along the way we had a few bumps. Most notably this past August. Before I got the call with the surgery date, Hubby and I were referred to a local specialist with regards to pregnancy. Thankfully I had "googled" this Doctor and knew from comments on "Rate my MD" what to expect.
(Note: I understand that the issue of a morbidly obese female wishing to procreate is complex. And yet, it does not always have to be. The overall picture of your health cannot solely be based by the numbers on the scale. Yes, being morbidly obese makes me at risk for certain diseases. So does smoking, drinking, sun tanning... Remember, my blood pressure has always been normal. My bloodwork has always been perfect. My blood sugar has always been normal. Even my cholesterol was great! One specialist whom I saw early in 2012 -who was sadly not taking new patients - told me that she would rather have me as a patient at my weight than a person of a normal BMI who smoked. The doomsday scenario of a large lady bearing children as a disaster is simply old school and not accurate... and tales of pre-eclampsia, gestational diabetes, and septicemia are certainly valid yet are often exaggerated. Again - overall health has to include the numbers on the scale but cannot be limited or defined by them.)
Soooo.... Hubby and I went to said appointment. At this stage, it would not be unusual to perhaps try medical assistance such as clomid to boost ovulation.
Of course before we could see the Dr, a kind nurse took my height and weight. I briefly thought about skipping that step so that the Dr. would actually see ME and not the number. But, being ever the good girl I did as I was asked. Stepped on the scale, and while I prayed yet again that I hadn't gained, I also found myself praying that I had grown 5 inches or more to lessen the BMI. Don't worry, I know that is not possible!
We were brought to an exam room, although looking back there was certainly no need. The Dr. could have done the rest of this in the lobby (which, by the way, was plastered in wall to wall images of babies..... not exactly a good thing if you are there to find out that you are infertile...).
The Dr. breezed into the room, chart in hand. She was beautiful, with blonde hair and limbs that seemed to go on without end. She was thin and was as graceful as a ballerina. I'm not sure if she has ever been at war with her body or the scales, but she did not appear to be battling either that morning.
Without looking at me - she artfully dodged this by looking at the wall, the lamp, Hubby, the floor - she addressed me by name (although sadly it was not my name!) and although I gently corrected her, in the next 3 minutes she used 4 variations of names that were not mine. Not once did she look me in the eye.
Her message - which was succinctly delivered in 2 minutes flat - was that at my "current STATE" it would not be ethical for her to assist us on our journey to conceive.
-----
(Pause while I fill you in...)
First of all, a Dr. should be able to look at a patient, no matter how horrific they may appear. I assure you that other than being large, I am quite pleasant looking. I do not have horns, warts, or other physical deformities. I did not have anything in my teeth, nor boogers hanging from my nose...
Second, with all of the education these people get, a Dr. should be able to call you by the correct name. It is not a reach to assume she could read. And I know from seeing the chart that my name was clearly printed - right next to my height and weight. I don't know if she was stuck on the numbers in the weight box or what, but there is simply no excuse for calling me 5 different names especially when I had corrected her the first time...
Last but not least.... morbid obesity is a medical term. Some consider it a disease, and some a disability. To refer to my weight as a "STATE" was the worse than looking at the floor and calling me the wrong name... it was just plain uneducated.
-----
So... without any interaction from us, she stood up and as she exited through the door she turned and offered the only suggestion she had - "if you have 15 thousand dollars perhaps I could refer you to a clinic in Halifax where you could go to store your eggs IF you have any left." Exit Doctor, stage right.
Ironically, I left that appointment with my head held even higher. I didn't get assistance, information, or even guidance. But I got clarity: this lady was not meant to be our Specialist. End of story. A year from now, hopefully we will be given the green light to try again. Should we need another appointment it will simply be with someone else.
I called this post The Unfit Physician. Even though she was quite fit physically, she was not "fit" to communicate with patients - or at least those of us of size. People in the medical profession need to be able to communicate with patients, or at least address them with some modicum of professionalism. I didn't expect her to understand anything about me or my struggles with weight... come to think of it I didn't even speak other than to correct her on my name. She seemingly thought that she knew everything she needed to know about me based on the numbers on the scales - which is a very sad conclusion for a Dr. to make.
After all, "do no harm" means more than making a mistake during a procedure...
Wednesday, 26 December 2012
Major News... m-a-j-o-r!
Ok, so first off I most wholeheartedly apologize to the handful of you who have been waiting for an update. Life got in the way of writing about life. And I most certainly have missed writing. So, with my spirit renewed and with steadfast conviction - I pledge to write far more regularly now that I have hauled my head out of my ass!
The news: I have had surgery. Santa came early and brought me the best present. I am the proud owner of a sleeve where once my stomache was. For any of you who are still following from my WW days, I commend you for fighting the battle and being able to do so without having to have surgery. Battling weight is not easy. I wish I could have joined the battle way before I got to 414lbs because I possibly would have been able to avoid this drastic measure.
That being said, my surgery went very well. I had no complications. I'm 2 weeks post op now. After a 3 day stay in the hospital I was released and sent on my way. I no longer have any sort of hunger. This is likely due to two things: first of all, my body has better sense than to want food because I simply can't tolerate it right now. Second of all, the part of the stomache that produces ghrelin (which is the chemical signal for hunger), has been removed. Either way, it is refreshing to live without hunger and it is completely new territory to live without the desire to eat.
My biggest challenges right now are staying hyrdrated to avoid re-hospitalisation. I can currently consume 4-8 ounces per hour depending on how my sleeve is feeling. Every small (and incredibly s...l....o......w.....) sip that I take is a journey. I have to evaluate how it feels going down, and if it is met with any disagreement from my sleeve then I have to stop. I am finding this difficult. I hit a low on Christmas Eve, when I found that I could simply not tolerate any liquids at all. I was so dry that I didn't have enough saliva to dissolve a TUMS (and trust me, after this surgery, antacid tablets have been my happy pills). My eyes felt like there was sand in them. Thankfully my loving Hubby encouraged me to try to keep at the liquids, and Christmas Day I was feeling much better.
So. What is life like now? Life is simple yet complex. My hunger is gone, and eating is out of the question, which makes this simple. The complexity comes in figuring out what I can tolerate. For the first 4 weeks post-op, I'm on a full-fluids which means that anything I ingest has to pour like milk (or dissolve in my mouth). The next 4 weeks after that I'll be on the "mushy" stage, where I can enjoy servings of epicurean delight such as 1 scrambled egg or 2 tablespoons of mashed turnip. In the long run, living with a sleeve means a drastic reduction in the amount I can ingest, but eventually I will be able to eat a variety of food just in smaller amounts. My sleeve will not stretch very much - so if the most I can handle is 8 ounces for example, my plate will look very different from before. 1 ounce of steak for example is the size of a matchbox. I've been on liquids now for 3 weeks including the 1 week pre-op.
Is it hard? YES (and no). It is hard to keep hydrated. Sometimes my sleeve simply does not want anything going towards it. It's kind of like trying to feed an infant. I never know how something will do when I send it down. My food (ie broth) constantly gets cold on me because it takes so long to consume it in tiny, thoughtful sips. I really miss being able to take a big gulp of drink. But trust me, when you've felt the wrath of swallowing too much (which feels like you have swallowed a soccer ball that is on fire), you learn really quick to take it slow. The part that makes this less hard is knowing that I simply can't do anything else. There is no cheating at this - it is physically impossible at least at this stage.
Christmas dinner for me was 2 tablespoons of turkey broth. I tried a little cranberry sauce but couldn't tolerate it. I did have a little trifle which my Mom made special with no-sugar added jello (which is strangely ok at this stage as it dissolves in the mouth) and low-fat cream. In the amount of time it took me to sip my broth and trifle, my in-laws had consumed not one but 2 gargantuan servings of turkey dinner. My Hubby's plate was piled so high it looked like a mountain range in Nepal. My family felt bad - they felt sorry for me . In turn, I felt like screaming at them. I mean, how can you feel sorry for me??? I've just done something incredibly brave to drastically change my life - and yet you didn't feel sorry when I sat in front of you at 400+ lbs and ate til I hurt??????
Speaking of weight, I am sick of it. Some people who get sleeved are fascinated with the weight loss which usually seems to be pretty drastic in the first little while. I am not. I know myself too well. I failed at WW because of the negative relationship I had with the scales. I put WAY too much pressure on myself, and the journey became all about the numbers.
I want this journey to be about improvements. About feeling better. About the little things that I notice (or the bigger things). I did take my measurements (with the help of my Mom) the night before surgery. And yes, I took my "before" pictures wearing tighter clothes. That way I'll have something to compare myself to other than the scales.
The numbers on the scale are just numbers. They can't tell what kind of a person you are or measure your kindness. They don't reflect that you have survived all sorts of horrors and come through the other side. And they can't gauge the changes that are happening within. And until I can see the results on the scales as just numbers and NOT use the results to wage war on myself, I won't take part in knowing them or promoting them. I know it is sort of a backward way of approaching things, but for now at least that is what I feel I need to do. I feel better than I did 3 weeks ago. In fact, while in hospital the day after surgery, I was moving better than I had the week before surgery.
I have my first clinical visit next month, and maybe I'll change the way I feel about the scales by then. But for now I think I've completely realized the extent that I allowed my own perception of the scales bother me before, and I won't allow that to happen again.
Anyhow - that is all the news that is fit to post. And I promise to keep you posted. Blogging is a wonderful way for me to keep track of me and how I'm feeling on this journey, so I'm doing this selfishly for me but maybe if I can help someone else even just one more person, I can reap even more rewards!
Oh and for those of you who are celebrating the holidays, Merry Christmas to you and yours and all the best for 2013!
The news: I have had surgery. Santa came early and brought me the best present. I am the proud owner of a sleeve where once my stomache was. For any of you who are still following from my WW days, I commend you for fighting the battle and being able to do so without having to have surgery. Battling weight is not easy. I wish I could have joined the battle way before I got to 414lbs because I possibly would have been able to avoid this drastic measure.
That being said, my surgery went very well. I had no complications. I'm 2 weeks post op now. After a 3 day stay in the hospital I was released and sent on my way. I no longer have any sort of hunger. This is likely due to two things: first of all, my body has better sense than to want food because I simply can't tolerate it right now. Second of all, the part of the stomache that produces ghrelin (which is the chemical signal for hunger), has been removed. Either way, it is refreshing to live without hunger and it is completely new territory to live without the desire to eat.
My biggest challenges right now are staying hyrdrated to avoid re-hospitalisation. I can currently consume 4-8 ounces per hour depending on how my sleeve is feeling. Every small (and incredibly s...l....o......w.....) sip that I take is a journey. I have to evaluate how it feels going down, and if it is met with any disagreement from my sleeve then I have to stop. I am finding this difficult. I hit a low on Christmas Eve, when I found that I could simply not tolerate any liquids at all. I was so dry that I didn't have enough saliva to dissolve a TUMS (and trust me, after this surgery, antacid tablets have been my happy pills). My eyes felt like there was sand in them. Thankfully my loving Hubby encouraged me to try to keep at the liquids, and Christmas Day I was feeling much better.
So. What is life like now? Life is simple yet complex. My hunger is gone, and eating is out of the question, which makes this simple. The complexity comes in figuring out what I can tolerate. For the first 4 weeks post-op, I'm on a full-fluids which means that anything I ingest has to pour like milk (or dissolve in my mouth). The next 4 weeks after that I'll be on the "mushy" stage, where I can enjoy servings of epicurean delight such as 1 scrambled egg or 2 tablespoons of mashed turnip. In the long run, living with a sleeve means a drastic reduction in the amount I can ingest, but eventually I will be able to eat a variety of food just in smaller amounts. My sleeve will not stretch very much - so if the most I can handle is 8 ounces for example, my plate will look very different from before. 1 ounce of steak for example is the size of a matchbox. I've been on liquids now for 3 weeks including the 1 week pre-op.
Is it hard? YES (and no). It is hard to keep hydrated. Sometimes my sleeve simply does not want anything going towards it. It's kind of like trying to feed an infant. I never know how something will do when I send it down. My food (ie broth) constantly gets cold on me because it takes so long to consume it in tiny, thoughtful sips. I really miss being able to take a big gulp of drink. But trust me, when you've felt the wrath of swallowing too much (which feels like you have swallowed a soccer ball that is on fire), you learn really quick to take it slow. The part that makes this less hard is knowing that I simply can't do anything else. There is no cheating at this - it is physically impossible at least at this stage.
Christmas dinner for me was 2 tablespoons of turkey broth. I tried a little cranberry sauce but couldn't tolerate it. I did have a little trifle which my Mom made special with no-sugar added jello (which is strangely ok at this stage as it dissolves in the mouth) and low-fat cream. In the amount of time it took me to sip my broth and trifle, my in-laws had consumed not one but 2 gargantuan servings of turkey dinner. My Hubby's plate was piled so high it looked like a mountain range in Nepal. My family felt bad - they felt sorry for me . In turn, I felt like screaming at them. I mean, how can you feel sorry for me??? I've just done something incredibly brave to drastically change my life - and yet you didn't feel sorry when I sat in front of you at 400+ lbs and ate til I hurt??????
Speaking of weight, I am sick of it. Some people who get sleeved are fascinated with the weight loss which usually seems to be pretty drastic in the first little while. I am not. I know myself too well. I failed at WW because of the negative relationship I had with the scales. I put WAY too much pressure on myself, and the journey became all about the numbers.
I want this journey to be about improvements. About feeling better. About the little things that I notice (or the bigger things). I did take my measurements (with the help of my Mom) the night before surgery. And yes, I took my "before" pictures wearing tighter clothes. That way I'll have something to compare myself to other than the scales.
The numbers on the scale are just numbers. They can't tell what kind of a person you are or measure your kindness. They don't reflect that you have survived all sorts of horrors and come through the other side. And they can't gauge the changes that are happening within. And until I can see the results on the scales as just numbers and NOT use the results to wage war on myself, I won't take part in knowing them or promoting them. I know it is sort of a backward way of approaching things, but for now at least that is what I feel I need to do. I feel better than I did 3 weeks ago. In fact, while in hospital the day after surgery, I was moving better than I had the week before surgery.
I have my first clinical visit next month, and maybe I'll change the way I feel about the scales by then. But for now I think I've completely realized the extent that I allowed my own perception of the scales bother me before, and I won't allow that to happen again.
Anyhow - that is all the news that is fit to post. And I promise to keep you posted. Blogging is a wonderful way for me to keep track of me and how I'm feeling on this journey, so I'm doing this selfishly for me but maybe if I can help someone else even just one more person, I can reap even more rewards!
Oh and for those of you who are celebrating the holidays, Merry Christmas to you and yours and all the best for 2013!
Friday, 3 August 2012
Limbo
I've been as busy as a beaver lately with work and life and just stuff in general. What is new? Well, no pregnancy yet. And I survived the family wedding without ending up in the slammer (or evading capture).
Yet, I feel like I'm in limbo.
Even though I'm busy, I feel stuck.
I haven't been taking care of myself as I should. In fact, even worse - I've been knowingly neglecting myself and sitting back watching it all happen. Witnessing it first hand, feeling miserable, and yet seemingly incapable of initiating change.
I think I kind of fooled myself into thinking that by going through the preliminary steps of the planning stages of bariatric surgery that I was actually doing something for myself.
Sure, I'm still planning on having the surgery. But why have I settled back into the OLD routine of not watching what I'm eating, or worse; watching myself eat something I really know that I should not eat?? And to make matters even more desperate, I've become aware that I'm eating sometimes when I'm not even truly hungry (gasp!).
Oh my. Rome wasn't built in a day, but it seems that it is terrifyingly possible to dismantle a city overnight.
I need to do something. I might not have control over some of the things that are happening in my life right now, such as waiting for the stork to leave us a present or getting the call about surgery. But I DO have control over how I live my life in the meanwhile.
It's time to get to business here. I need to feel better. That won't come from eating crap. It just won't.
I need to start feeling better. To eat things that I like (which include veggies, fruit, and believe it or not healthier food!).
I need to regain control of my health, my nutrition, and my self.
I'm sick of this limbo, besides... I fear I have set my pole too low and I need to raise the bar. I'd rather be trying to achieve something than sitting around and waiting for something to happen.
Here's to a better tomorrow...
Yet, I feel like I'm in limbo.
Even though I'm busy, I feel stuck.
I haven't been taking care of myself as I should. In fact, even worse - I've been knowingly neglecting myself and sitting back watching it all happen. Witnessing it first hand, feeling miserable, and yet seemingly incapable of initiating change.
I think I kind of fooled myself into thinking that by going through the preliminary steps of the planning stages of bariatric surgery that I was actually doing something for myself.
Sure, I'm still planning on having the surgery. But why have I settled back into the OLD routine of not watching what I'm eating, or worse; watching myself eat something I really know that I should not eat?? And to make matters even more desperate, I've become aware that I'm eating sometimes when I'm not even truly hungry (gasp!).
Oh my. Rome wasn't built in a day, but it seems that it is terrifyingly possible to dismantle a city overnight.
I need to do something. I might not have control over some of the things that are happening in my life right now, such as waiting for the stork to leave us a present or getting the call about surgery. But I DO have control over how I live my life in the meanwhile.
It's time to get to business here. I need to feel better. That won't come from eating crap. It just won't.
I need to start feeling better. To eat things that I like (which include veggies, fruit, and believe it or not healthier food!).
I need to regain control of my health, my nutrition, and my self.
I'm sick of this limbo, besides... I fear I have set my pole too low and I need to raise the bar. I'd rather be trying to achieve something than sitting around and waiting for something to happen.
Here's to a better tomorrow...
Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Q & A
Ok, in a humorous attempt to bolster my inner HAG (my Hidden-Assertive-Goddess); (I'm a marshmallow, a people-pleaser at heart, so I don't "do" assertive too well although I'm trying to improve I promise)... I have come up with a list of Q & A for myself. This way I can pull open this blog entry when in need of a response based on the situation. Again, any suggestions or comments are more than welcome.
Q- "When are you two going to have a baby?"
A- "When people stop asking."
Q- "You've been married now for long enough. Time to get at it, don't you think?"
A- "Yes, the three years we've been married feels like a lifetime. Especially when we have to deal with family members like yourself at occasions like these."
Q- "My Goodness - you two aren't getting any younger. Have you thought about having kids?"
A- "Oh yes. We'd also like to have a 7 bedroom mansion, 2 corvettes, and a petting barn."
Q- "So do you two have any news????"
A- "Well, according to Anderson Cooper things aren't going so hot in Syria right now."
Q- "Is that a baby bump I see?"
A- "No, but here's my fist..."
Q- "You might want to start trying soon, given your age. Are you planning to try?"
A- "Isn't age a funny thing? Yes, I'm approaching 40, but I look a good ten years younger. Funny how some of us manage to avoid shriveling up like dried prunes, and some of us -like yourself- can't age with any sort of grace or dignity."
Q- "You know how desperately your parents want to be grandparents. You're not planning on disappointing them, are you?"
A - "Well, it would be more disappointing for them to have to bail me out of the prison after I bash in your skull with a shovel and leave your raggedy-ass carcass in the hot desert for the vultures to feast on..."
(ok, so that's a bit of a stretch...)
I, of course, used Google to search what advice was out there for people like us. The best advice I have found is that Hubby and I need to decide together on what sort of responses we will give, and what questions we simply will not tolerate. We will do this on the way out of town today.
I also read that it is perfectly acceptable to ditch a conversation if you feel that it is starting to bother you immensely, and excuse yourself for some fresh air or quality time in the loo. I think I'll come up with a signal to give Hubby so that he'll know if I end up bailing on him that A) I'm ok, and B) I'll be back. Hmmm... I could chose a random body motion such as an eye to wink, however he just might miss that given his lack of ability to locate the bright shiny new bottle of ketchup in the front of the top shelf of the fridge.
I've got it... I'll use a codeword. One that will make him understand that I just need an escape from the nosy parker who is invading our privacy. One that assures him that I love him dearly and I'll be ok but I just need a self-imposed time-out. One that I can delicately slip to him in his ear that will be our little secret....
"Shovel." ... It's perfect! ....
Not only does it explain to him why I'm leaving.... it also lets him in on my plan and informs him of what I've gone to get...
Q- "When are you two going to have a baby?"
A- "When people stop asking."
Q- "You've been married now for long enough. Time to get at it, don't you think?"
A- "Yes, the three years we've been married feels like a lifetime. Especially when we have to deal with family members like yourself at occasions like these."
Q- "My Goodness - you two aren't getting any younger. Have you thought about having kids?"
A- "Oh yes. We'd also like to have a 7 bedroom mansion, 2 corvettes, and a petting barn."
Q- "So do you two have any news????"
A- "Well, according to Anderson Cooper things aren't going so hot in Syria right now."
Q- "Is that a baby bump I see?"
A- "No, but here's my fist..."
Q- "You might want to start trying soon, given your age. Are you planning to try?"
A- "Isn't age a funny thing? Yes, I'm approaching 40, but I look a good ten years younger. Funny how some of us manage to avoid shriveling up like dried prunes, and some of us -like yourself- can't age with any sort of grace or dignity."
Q- "You know how desperately your parents want to be grandparents. You're not planning on disappointing them, are you?"
A - "Well, it would be more disappointing for them to have to bail me out of the prison after I bash in your skull with a shovel and leave your raggedy-ass carcass in the hot desert for the vultures to feast on..."
(ok, so that's a bit of a stretch...)
I, of course, used Google to search what advice was out there for people like us. The best advice I have found is that Hubby and I need to decide together on what sort of responses we will give, and what questions we simply will not tolerate. We will do this on the way out of town today.
I also read that it is perfectly acceptable to ditch a conversation if you feel that it is starting to bother you immensely, and excuse yourself for some fresh air or quality time in the loo. I think I'll come up with a signal to give Hubby so that he'll know if I end up bailing on him that A) I'm ok, and B) I'll be back. Hmmm... I could chose a random body motion such as an eye to wink, however he just might miss that given his lack of ability to locate the bright shiny new bottle of ketchup in the front of the top shelf of the fridge.
I've got it... I'll use a codeword. One that will make him understand that I just need an escape from the nosy parker who is invading our privacy. One that assures him that I love him dearly and I'll be ok but I just need a self-imposed time-out. One that I can delicately slip to him in his ear that will be our little secret....
"Shovel." ... It's perfect! ....
Not only does it explain to him why I'm leaving.... it also lets him in on my plan and informs him of what I've gone to get...
Monday, 2 July 2012
Guess Who Came For Supper?
(george)
God I hate that effing man.
Oh well, at least I know. At least now I can go out and spend even more money on testing strips for the monitor for another month on the carousel. I can now book an appointment for my Doctor for god only knows what tests, and get myself on a god-only-knows-how-long waitlist to see a specialist. And, although no-one will have any clue how devestatingly heartbroken I am... I guess if I do knock anyone to the floor at the wedding who dares ask why we aren't pregnant, if we are planning on having kids, or when we are going to start trying- at least I'll probably get off with insanity.
I have never known anything as frustrating as this process, and trust me - I've had my share of frustration and "ups and downs". The worst thing is that there is virtually no support. Sure, I'm on a couple of websites for people trying to conceive, but let me tell you that when you are forming bonds with others who share in your plight... after a while as the others start to come back with posts of their big fat positive results, it can get to you a little.
Ok, vent over. I'll get there someday. Or I'll knit myself a kid (ok, so first I'd have to learn how to knit). If only I had kept that Cabbage Patch Doll...
One last thing. I'm going to need to arm myself for battle. If ANY of you out there have any suggestions on how to politely and effectively respond to the prying questions of family members at this weekend's wedding, please send me any suggestions... I thought briefly of making a pin that reads: "1.NO we aren't pregnant yet, 2. YES we desperately want kids, and 3. Actually we are a bit heartbroken about it all so could you please please please shut the eff up???"
<insert sigh here>
Sunday, 1 July 2012
Hurry Up and Wait
Guess who is pregnant???
Nope, not me, not at least that I know of yet... but one of my favourite singers: Adele.
In my next life I'm coming back as a backup singer for her...
Adele, if you're reading this, congrats my dear! I won't lie, I'm totally jealous, but I'm looking forward to your Nursery Album release party. Oh yes, I would be honored to attend your baby shower! Any chance you need a mural painted in your nursery (or a backup singer)? Have your people call my people and we will make plans...
So... today, July 2, is day 32 of my cycle. Gulp. My average cycle length is 29 days.
Symptoms? Well, seeing as you asked...
I know that those symptoms could mean that I'm in a motherly way, OR that they could mostly be due to the pending arrival of George. Told you he was a mother-effer.
So, the only news is that I now have a really weird and freakish aversion to food based on texture, which I have never had before. For example, yesterday I actually had to spit out a forkful of lemon mirengue pie because the consistency of the mirengue was making me sick to look at. I can assure you that I have never in my life found myself having any thoughts about the texture of food, let alone an aversion to it... and I likewise have certainly never spit out a bit of pie. The look on Hubby's face was pretty much priceless...
I have a hard time swallowing anything that I'm eating. If I think about the food too much, it's like my body is sending me the signals to upchuck it back up. I can only eat a little before this kicks in, which means that for the most part I'm unable to finish a meal now.
I'm sitting here with the burning urge to pee again. Oh yes - add that to the list. Frequent peeing. Just call me Seabiscuit. While this could be due to pregnancy, it can also be due to the fact that I'm focusing on staying hydrated even more than usual.
I'm also sitting here with the burning urge to google more baby names or read more stories of people who have actually been pregnant with 2 negative tests done at home... BUT... I'm giving myself a break. After all, I don't want to dwell in the land of stress!
The fact is, George will either show or not. Either way, I have to book an appointment with my Doctor to either confirm these rumors OR seek medical assistance if I am not pregnant. It has been 6 months now, and with my "advanced maternal age" of 39, it's time to get this show on the road if it isn't already.
So, with that, I'm going to have a nice shower and retreat to my freshly-laundered bed. I've also had the strong urge to do housework, however that may be due to the fact that the housework is long overdue...
I will keep you posted.
Nope, not me, not at least that I know of yet... but one of my favourite singers: Adele.
In my next life I'm coming back as a backup singer for her...
Adele, if you're reading this, congrats my dear! I won't lie, I'm totally jealous, but I'm looking forward to your Nursery Album release party. Oh yes, I would be honored to attend your baby shower! Any chance you need a mural painted in your nursery (or a backup singer)? Have your people call my people and we will make plans...
So... today, July 2, is day 32 of my cycle. Gulp. My average cycle length is 29 days.
Symptoms? Well, seeing as you asked...
- tender breasts
- fatigue... as in extreme fatigue... like I could nap all night and all day
- headaches every now and again
- funky abdominal twinges and very minor occasional discomfort
- nausea
- weird aversion to food texture - brand new
- irritability; although this seems to have settled just a smidgeon
I know that those symptoms could mean that I'm in a motherly way, OR that they could mostly be due to the pending arrival of George. Told you he was a mother-effer.
So, the only news is that I now have a really weird and freakish aversion to food based on texture, which I have never had before. For example, yesterday I actually had to spit out a forkful of lemon mirengue pie because the consistency of the mirengue was making me sick to look at. I can assure you that I have never in my life found myself having any thoughts about the texture of food, let alone an aversion to it... and I likewise have certainly never spit out a bit of pie. The look on Hubby's face was pretty much priceless...
I have a hard time swallowing anything that I'm eating. If I think about the food too much, it's like my body is sending me the signals to upchuck it back up. I can only eat a little before this kicks in, which means that for the most part I'm unable to finish a meal now.
I'm sitting here with the burning urge to pee again. Oh yes - add that to the list. Frequent peeing. Just call me Seabiscuit. While this could be due to pregnancy, it can also be due to the fact that I'm focusing on staying hydrated even more than usual.
I'm also sitting here with the burning urge to google more baby names or read more stories of people who have actually been pregnant with 2 negative tests done at home... BUT... I'm giving myself a break. After all, I don't want to dwell in the land of stress!
The fact is, George will either show or not. Either way, I have to book an appointment with my Doctor to either confirm these rumors OR seek medical assistance if I am not pregnant. It has been 6 months now, and with my "advanced maternal age" of 39, it's time to get this show on the road if it isn't already.
So, with that, I'm going to have a nice shower and retreat to my freshly-laundered bed. I've also had the strong urge to do housework, however that may be due to the fact that the housework is long overdue...
I will keep you posted.
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